


The Place I Call Home

by paupotter_4869



Series: A Love Much Greater Than A Dream [5]
Category: The Host (2013), The Host - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Fluffyfest, Growing Old Together, Married Life, just filling in the gaps of part 4 of the series, mists planet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2020-11-22 14:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20875703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupotter_4869/pseuds/paupotter_4869
Summary: The Host AU. Souls understood the wrong they did invading the Earth and so left our Planet, giving humans our home back. Now, humans and Souls coexist peacefully, and our family make the best of it all.Fifth installment--so far--of the series.There were SO MANY missing scenes and POVs I couldn't include in part 4 of the series because it would have disrupted the development of events. . . But I wanted to share them, so here they are !! In case you wanted more fromA Love Much Greater Than A Dreamseries, because I'm not ready to give it up just yet . . .Only romantic bliss, fluffy scenes, domestic fluffy life for our family :)





	1. Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> So. . . Welcome back ! I hope you enjoy the series just as much as I enjoy writing it--I simply cannot stop myself from adding more and more to the story...
> 
> Just to summarize: Wanda and Ian had a baby _(A Greater Chance Anyone'd Hoped For)_. In one of the raids, they met another Soul who's ‘turned’ and who had a plan for humans to fight back _(The Strangest)_. Denny encouraged Wanda to return to College and translated her love of humans and the earth to other Souls and make them see staying on earth was a mistake._(The First Step)_. She succeeded, but it was no bed of roses, and Souls and humans had to work side by side in order to reunite human families and reestablish some sort of order in the world. _(A Whole New World)_.
> 
> This work is set after _A Whole New World_ and scenes of our family's everyday life.
> 
> Per usual, All credit to S. Meyer.

The Earth is at peace. There is no hunger. There is no violence or wars. The environment is healed. Honesty, courtesy, and kindness are practiced by all. Our world has never been more perfect.

And nowadays, humans and the remaining Souls coexist in almost perfect harmony. We’ve taught humankind all they were supposed to know to avoid conflicts, to live in eco-friendly environments, to enjoy and thrive in a community, and Souls’ role in Earth is no longer, so the remaining millions of Souls are free to do as they wish. 

I, of course, am staying. I tried leaving, twice already, but with the years I’ve spent here on Earth I’ve done some learning and growing myself too, helped by my closest friends and family members. I know now I could never leave Ian, or my family, behind. They wouldn’t forgive me and, moreover, they wouldn’t let me leave them--they’d follow me wherever I went. 

That’s why we settled, temporary at least, on Earth, to enjoy at least a decade of peace and harmony and happiness, before I forced them into another adventure. This one, the adventure of a lifetime, for we’ll be traveling throughout the Galaxy to another ecosystem, another Planet, another life. We aliens might have opened their minds and expanded the technological advances at their disposal, granted, but this is something they cannot even begin to fathom. 

Anyhow, that’s a bunch of years down the line still, since we even had to leave Nick back home for our two-day trip. Thoughts of leaving don’t even cross my mind as much as they used to anymore, except for when remorse eats me alive for dragging my family away from their homes, their families. Then again, I try not to think about that too much. 

Right now I barely own the capacity of thought or reason. Ian’s hand has been wandering for a while already: started at my shoulders, he’s long wandered down to my shoulder blades and breasts, kissing me on the hair, cheek, jaw, and neck. Me, in turn, as I tried to swallow back the moans, I’ve repaid him in kind by massaging him with one hand over his trousers--a nuisance, really--we’ve literally been making out at the back seats of the van for the past twenty minutes. 

A groan and scowls make us jump, but it’s only Jared, Mel and Jamie complaining in front of the TV of the car. Exchanging one look, Ian and I burst out laughing because of the interruption. We say things have changed for the better and yet three grown-ups still yell at a TV as if expecting the players to hear them and improve playing accordingly to the telling off. 

“Come on, how could he miss that?” yells Jamie, in a tantrum the likes of which we haven’t seen from him in a long time. 

“It’s embarrassing, for Pete’s sake,” scowls Jared, one hand on the remote. “No wonder we’re going to lose the season. Again.” 

“Don’t you dare change the channel,” forbids Mel, grabbing the remote and throwing it out of Jared’s reach. “Match is not over yet.” 

“That’s right, Jared, don’t lose hope,” I add, amused voice because of his sour mood and my reminding him of Souls’ teachings. 

By my side, Ian groans, shifting on the seat to pretend, at the very least, we were paying no attention whatsoever to the football game on the screen. Oh, well--thanks to the match we enjoyed some minutes of intimacy back here, which we’ll certainly pick up once we get back home. 

Or maybe we won’t make it home, I must rectify my thoughts when Ian addresses me that look with those blue eyes, that particular smirk, that could make me melt. Damn it, I won’t be able to hold myself back for much longer if he keeps doing that--and so I push his chin with my finger, trying to make him turn his head and look somewhere else, anywhere else. His eyes, however, never leave mine, and I sigh, leaning to rest my head on his chest. He must know what he does to me and how hard it is to tell him no. If there’s another thing I’ve learned, it’s that now and then it’s OK to indulge in one’s needs and cravings. This situation would certainly qualify. 

“Oh, here they are,” says Jamie then, saving both our asses. Looking through the windshield, we see a bus entering the Airport gates. We certainly didn’t use my name to gain access to the Airport while we waited, and we neither asked for a little bit of secrecy and privacy to keep this visit off the media attention, at least for the time being. 

“Let’s go, come on,” says Jared, a bit too eager for any distraction that doesn’t involve the game. He snatches the remote from Mel’s hands to switch off the TV and is the first one to step out of the van. He holds the sliding door open for us, giving first Mel and then me a hand getting out. 

By the time we all come out and stand under the relentless August sun, covering our eyes with our hands and sunglasses, the bus driver has pulled over behind us. The man opens the doors, astonished, as we get closer--the passengers haven’t noticed us yet, picking up their traveling bags from the compartments, wrapping up conversations with family members they’re minutes away to bid farewell forever. 

“Wanderer?” the driver asks in stutters, looking at the rest of my family. Inside the bus, the passengers turn in shock upon that name, confirming that it is indeed me and my family members. The usual whispers raise and I sigh as I climb up the stairs--this isn’t about me. 

“Hello, everyone,” I greet, raising my voice, as the conversations slowly die out. “And let me welcome all of you to the Hartford Interspacial Airport. Come on, we can talk downstairs.” 

Everyone follows my suit and so, on the ground floor, we make all the necessary introductions. Well, everyone knows all of my family members’ names, of course, and the schedules of humans and Souls leaving the Earth are public record--so even if we have never met, we kinda know who’s who around here. We disregard that small detail as we greet each other formally by hugs and kisses and other tokens we’ve brought for their trip away from the Earth, the only home some of them have ever known. 

The one thing my family and I do need to explain is the reason why we’re here, in spite of how obvious it is--we’re here to bid them farewell, of course. The Spears still seem puzzled by us taking the time to greet them on their last few minutes before their scheduled trip. Of course, we cannot and have not done so for every last family leaving the Earth--Ian and the rest wouldn’t ever allow me to--but we make the time once every few months. That’s what we Souls do, after all. That’s what living in a Soul community means, and it’d be high time they learnt it also. 

Far too soon a CO comes to meet us and report we’re way behind schedule. Being brutally honest--and selfish--that’s another reason why we never report in advance whenever we come to visit someone leaving the Earth. Less preparation, fewer rumors, the lower chance of the media can be aware of it and come bother us. 

“Well, this is it,” says Frank Spears, sighing deeply, looking down at the seven family members he’s supposed, somehow, to say goodbye to today. It’s not easy, doesn’t matter the months--of years--of preparation beforehand. I spare him from dwelling too much on the subject, at least for now. 

“I’m sure you’ve been told everything, but you need to go to hangar A, to that spaceship, where they’ll keep your bags. They’ll give you pajamas, perform all four extractions needed,” I look at Chikere, Niharika, Francis, Sacagawea, Vero and April for that last part, “and put you under inside beds within water for the trip. In just a few years, seconds to you, you’ll find yourselves in the Fire World.” 

Feels strange to fulfill the role normally the CO would do, explain the procedures one last time so it doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone, but I understand they may need to hear this once more. Following procedures that they know by heart might be the only keeping them sane right now, taking it one step at a time. 

All ten family members follow the CO over to the hangar, leaving us behind now. We respect their right to bid farewell privately one more--one last time. In the meantime, pilots and other crewmembers and officers walk past by us, following their orders and performing their tasks while glancing towards us now and then. 

Few minutes in, Frank descends, all by himself, from the spaceship. We meet him beyond the safety area established by the COs and crewmembers, trying to give him some sort of solace, albeit no words could ever help him. 

I keep an eye on him either way, assessing his reaction to the whole thing. In just a few years, I’ll be one of his family members, I’ll be leaving the Earth, and what Frank’s going through is exactly what Nicholas will suffer then. I want to make sure he’ll get through it and that our absence won’t devastate nor break him. Good news for me is, I’m only taking one of his sons away--Kyle has long since stated categorically that Earth will be his tombstone. I’m not sure that’s any reassurance for me or Nicholas, but it’s nice to have dreams and futile wishes now and then. 

The spaceship doesn’t take long to start hovering some feet above the ground for a full minute, running last-minute check-ups, and then, without further ado nor warnings, it shoots vertically, right to the sky, so fast our eyes cannot follow it. Within seconds there’re no more traces of the spaceship or the Spears family. 

When I look up at Frank again, I realize he’s crying and he’s been crying for a while now, judging by his red eyes and the tear tracks on his cheeks. I step forward, unsure. I’d like to say something, I’d love there was anything I could say, but there isn’t. 

“Hey, are you hungry? Would you like to have lunch with us?” suggests Mel, behind me. 

Frank smiles through his tears at the idea. “No, thank you. I’d rather go home. I better start getting used to--”

The loneliness, the silence, the empty house. I can finish Frank’s sentence even if he can’t find the words, or the strength to utter them out loud. I know what it’s like. Even though I was more of a traveler than a stay-at-home kind of Soul, my millennia of traveling around meant that I always spent time adjusting to a new home, a new life, without any acquaintances. It takes a while, certainly. The silver lining is that, living within a Soul community, Frank won’t be alone much. Maybe they’ll be imposing a little bit, almost cross the rude line, but his friends and neighbors won’t let him mourn and sulk all day long on his own at his place. 

Even so, I take a business card out of my pocket and give it to him. 

“In case you ever want company for lunch,” I say, winking at him. Frank laughs openly this time, dazzled by the attention he’s getting from me and Mel, but nods in appreciation and buries the card with my number inside his pocket. 

“Thank you for stopping by,” he says, as he starts shaking hands. “I’m guessing I’ll see you on the news at some point or another.” 

“Stay safe,” says Jared. Ian, Jamie and Mel bid farewell with similar notes. For me, Frank has reserved a hug--the difference between my petite figure and his eight feet tall means that he can literally give me a bear hug, holding me close and tight. I welcome him and let him hold me for as long as he needs, knowing he’s not exactly embracing me, but still clinging onto the idea of his daughter. 

He needs only a few long seconds before he pulls away, and I smile at him, a miserably small gesture after everything that’s unfolded, but it seems good enough for Frank. 

“Thank you,” he whispers through his tears. “Have a nice day.” 

“You too,” I nod, squeezing his arm encouragingly before I let him go for good. 

He nods in a farewell note to all of us once more and then makes his way out of the Airport, head and shoulders dropped and short--uncertain still--steps. We don’t stop him to remind him of the bus driver waiting to take him back home, knowing he needs some minutes alone now. Also, we realize there’s only a slim chance he’ll ever phone me, but if he does, we all be there for whatever he needs. 

“If there’s nothing more, can we get going? We might even catch the end of the game still,” says Jamie, checking his watch. The idea only makes Jared groan, running a hand through his hair with despair--and I burst out laughing, shaking my head. We’re just following back into our easy-going and friendly family bickering. 

“Seriously? What can possibly compel you to go back watching that game?” 

“Well, as a matter of fact, I was just trying to suggest we went back to the van so we can hide,” says Jaime. Now I’m the one to freeze, holding my breath--I think I know where he’s going with this riddle. 

“Please don’t tell me.” 

“Okay, I won’t,” settles my little brother, putting away his phone. With that, I sigh deeply and drop my head, my worse fears confirmed. 

“Godsdammit, can’t anyone keep a secret nowadays?” I scowl. 

As if the roles had been reversed, it’s me sulking and cursing now, whereas Jared and the rest of my family just chuckle, barely able to hide their amusement, laughing at my expense. But I really wanted to avoid a meeting with the media today--unfortunately, we don’t achieve so every time we go bid farewell to another family. 

“Move your asses!” I order. 

Grabbing Ian’s hand, I dash forward towards our van parked. Ian, however, forces me to slow down and stop when we reach the vehicle. 

“Ian--”

He stops my complaints with a deep kiss, his tongue easily finding access inside my mouth, and any sour mood or arguments vanish from my brain instantly. My head a little bit dizzy, my hands move up his waist and his back, wishing, not for the first time today, that we’d never left our bed this morning. 

“Knock it off, you two,” scowls Jamie when the three reach our position. We don’t break the kiss just yet, their complaints be damned, deciding only brute force will separate us in the imminent future. 

“Weren’t you in a hurry, Wanda?” asks Mel. 

“Even if you aren’t, I don’t think that’s the kind of spectacle you want to offer the media,” adds Jared, leaning against the van. Blushing, I drop flat on my feet, hiding against Ian’s chest. No one looks terribly upset or traumatized by our public act of affection. 

“Let’s go,” I accept. 

“Probably wise,” nods Jared, opening the sliding door for us. Mel jumps in immediately and her first action is to turn on the TV again--the match still on. “Ian, you driving?” 

“Why’s that?” demands Ian, freezing on his way up the van. 

“Because you driving is the only way you’ll keep your hands off each other until we’re back home,” explains Mel from inside the vehicle, her voice deadpan and serious as if she were saying to an adult that two plus two equals four. 

If possible, I blush even worse than before, squeezing Ian’s hand so tightly that it must certainly hurt him. He looks down at me shaking his head, dismissing Mel’s outburst, but he does look appropriately appalled and restraint that they should have caught us. We probably weren’t as silent as quiet as we’d thought. 

Ian leans down to give me a quick peck on the lips, accepting Jared’s command out of pity towards our family--we really should be able to show some constraint in public. I’m still red as I take a seat by Jamie’s side, Jared closing the door behind us, and Ian takes the driver’s spot. 

By my side, Jamie just bumps gently against my shoulder, telling me that it’s OK, they understand. If it’d bothered them, they would have told us, his eyes say. Be as it may, he puts me out of my misery soon enough, as soon as we pass the security controls of the Airport and Ian drives off. 

“Hey, Wanda. . . What day and exact time did the Big Ben stopped working in 1975?” 

Almost every last passenger in the van scowls and refuses to play our Q&A, but I smile warmly at Jamie for trying to distract us--well, me mostly--from the embarrassing conversation we were having. Neither Jared, Mel or Ian will call it a pleasant distraction, perhaps they’d use the adjectives ‘torture’ and ‘embarrassing’. 

“That happened on August 5th, 1976, at quarter to four in the morning. It was the first time it’d stopped in over a century, since its completion.” 

“Correct, of course,” nods Jamie. 

“How can you just know all that? It’s impossible!” shrieks Jared in desperation, already guessing how the game is going to unfold over the next few minutes. Jamie and I just shrug--it’s all trivia I’ve gathered after years and years of studying human history. As per Jamie. . . Well, he does have a remarkable memory. 

“D’you want to check it out?” I suggest, crossing my arms. 

Jared just scoffs, raising his hands in the air, before this turns into a full-out useless and unnecessary argument. It’s often been pointed out amongst our family that Jamie and I might just make all this stuff up, but every time someone dares to accuse us of coming up with all this trivia, they’re wrong. 

“No need, thank you. Please, proceed,” he says, pointing at me.


	2. Stephen Howe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jared's POV

As the bus comes to a stop, everyone files in orderly, according to the order of arrival, instead of bumping into each other to rush in and find an available seat. 

“Good morning,” Jared greets the driver when he steps in. He holds his card onto the machine ad everyone else before him. Not that they’re charged or anything--it just helps the Government keep track of the bigger movements of the citizens, in case special shuttles are needed in some areas and time zones.

“D’you want to sit down, sir?” a young teenage boy asks Jared. 

“No, that’s not--” Before he manages to dismiss the offer, the boy stands. Can’t he see that I’m merely twice his age? thinks Jared as he drops the subject and takes the seat. 

That’s just how things are now, however. On the next stop, a man stands to give his seat to a woman barely his same age, carrying quite a few shopping bags. In Souls society, in Wanda’s society, you don’t get to sit down on a bus or train if someone older than you is standing. Common sense rules that should have been simple and obvious even before the Souls occupied this Planet, but weren’t. 

Jared’s trip takes only fifteen minutes--he, along with half a dozen more passengers, leave the bus at the Healing Center stop. 

Nervous, he greets the friendly and cordial nurses at the front desk and goes to the third floor, using the stairs--trying still to maintain healthy habits. His goal: room number 324. Patient’s name: Stephen Howe. 

“Jared,” a woman stops him before he steps into the room. Healer Francis. By now they’re all on first-name basis, they’ve practically seen each other every day for the past ten months. 

“Morning,” he greets back, closing the door again out of politeness--they really wouldn’t disturb the patient even if they started yelling inside of the hospital room. “How’s he?” 

“No changes, I’m afraid,” says she, her voice truly apologetic. “You know it’s going to be a long process, if he ever remembers anything at all.” 

“Yes,” sighs Jared. “Are you going to run any more tests?” 

“Not today--he deserves a break,” the Healer says with a smile. “Go talk to him.” 

Jared nods and they bid farewell. Talking at their father--not to him and much less, with him--is pretty much all he and his siblings can do lately. Healer Francis encourages them all to keep trying and not lose hope, but it gets harder by the day. 

His father, per usual, is seated in a wheelchair facing the window, unmoving. He doesn't even react when Jared knocks on the door, steps in without waiting for an answer he knows he won't get and sits on the chair in front of his father. He has to nudge at his knee to get the man to look up at him--but judging by the far-off look on his eyes, he doesn’t know who he is. 

“How’re you this morning, Dad?” he asks nonetheless, never losing hope. If there’s one thing he’s learned from Wanda is to believe. “D’you know where you are, Dad? What country do we live in?” 

Doesn’t really matter what he asks his father or how long he waits for an answer--he can stand there for two hours in silence, for all his Dad cares. It wouldn’t make a difference. He still won’t answer. Healer Francis and her team don’t believe the man can even understand them, but insist that they should not lose faith and stop trying. Something, at some point, might come back. And that's what they're holding on to. Desperately. 

Hours later, dozens of simple questions later, someone knocks on the door and Jared looks up for the first time since he got here. Michael. The man, or Soul, who, strange as it is, is more his father than the man seated in the wheelchair. 

“Be right back,” Jared excuses himself, standing. But his father won’t notice his absence, the same way he was oblivious and deaf to his questions. 

He and Michael meet in the middle of the room and speak in whispers, albeit they aren't truly bothering the patient. 

“Didn’t know you’d be here today,” says Michael. 

“To be honest, I didn’t know myself till a few hours ago,” confesses Jared, staring at his father over the shoulder. 

“Any progress?” 

Jared shakes his head slowly, gravely. None since Michael left Dad's Host and he was admitted at the Healing Center. Months back. Of course, everyone says they should be patient, that there are no rules, that these things vary from patient to patient, but. . . This is more than his nerves can handle. 

“I’ll be eternally sorry,” whispers Michael. 

“Please, I beg of you, don’t spend the rest of your existence apologizing,” says Jared, just a little bit rude. “It’s unnecessary. You did nothing wrong.”

“I beg to differ.” 

“You couldn’t understand what you were doing when you came here to the Earth. When you did, you delivered our father safe and sound to a Healing Center and asked to be extracted from his Host. You couldn’t have known his conscience was gone.” The words leaving his mouth surprise both Jared and Michael equally--he didn’t know he’d come to understand the damage Souls did was completely unintentional. When did things change so much, he wonders. But the truth is simple and straight--it all changed with Wanda. 

“And you don’t know if it’s truly gone,” interjects Michael, resting a doubtful hand on Jared's shoulder, in case it's stepping over a line or something. “You just have to keep trying.” 

“I know,” nods Jared. 

“Shift change?” asks Michael upon noticing Jared's tiredness.

“Please,” he begs, dropping on the bed, behind his father’s back. Michael takes the spot in front of Stephen and resumes Jared’s prior interrogation, concerning Stephen's childhood, his family, his wife, his kids, his studies. Trying to jolt a memory, a name, a date. Of course, that's the funny thing: Michael does have a recollection of all those memories from Stephen’s life, from when he was in control of his mind and body. He knows everything about his life and family, maybe more than Jared himself, sine Michael's got first-hand memories of Stephen's childhood. 

And yet, he’s far from Jared’s father. They want their real father back. They’re just going to be patient, and insistent, and have a lot of faith.


	3. First Christmas

“It’s Christmas,” whispers Jared in awe. 

“Yes, it is,” nods Mel condescendingly. “Don’t the carols playing literally everywhere and Santa Clauses give it away? Uncle Jared isn't really the brightest star, is he?” 

With that, little Nick chuckles, hiding behind Mel in case Jared got angry at the insult--or pretended to be, actually. But even without checking the frigging calendar it is hard not to realize that Christmas is coming just by stepping outside of the house: there's the lights hanging from every balcony and lamplight, he carol songs playing from 9 am to 5 pm every day non-stop, the citizens wearing red costumes and fake Santa Claus beards giving out presents at every corner. How could Jared be so oblivious? 

“Did you think it was Easter?” presses Mel, resting a hand on Jared's shoulder and kissing him on the cheek. 

“No, not exactly. But. . .” 

“Well, come on, let’s check a few presents,” says Mel, grabbing both Jared and Nick and dragging them into the first store she sees. 

Despite her jokes, Mel knows what Jared means. While they were on the run, there never were any Christmases whatsoever. All they did once, right after meeting Jared, because he had with him a sense of security and protection that always used to encourage Mel into being more daring, they stole a huge amount of food and feasted for days. That was the only celebration they ever did. In the caves there was no Christmas or New Year‘s and on their raids, even with Wanda doing all the shopping, they’d never risk the lives of all their family members just for an extraordinary meal--even Wanda herself agreed. There was no chance of celebration when they were hiding while Wanda taught at College. And now that the world has turned upside down. . . They’re still getting used to how things work now. There have been too many changes. They still tense whenever a Soul greets them randomly on the street, wishing them a good day. Trying to celebrate Christmas properly so early maybe was a mistake. 

“Look at this car, auntie Mel!”

Nick’s yell and the title he used to bring her back to the Earth. Just like Jared has a hard time accepting it's actually December, nearly Christmas Holidays, she’ll never get used to being an aunt. Taking care of Jamie while they were on the run was just a duty she had to fulfill, she never saw it as a motherly thingy. And Wanda just went ahead and didn’t take any precautions and just had a child while being in hiding--because her teaching forbade her from aborting. Nowadays, now that we’re allowed to, Mel’s just enjoying it all too much and grabs carefully the police car toy Nick’s showing her. 

“This is an old model from the British police,” she says. “These were called “pandas”, because of their colors, you see?” 

“Because they’re black and white?”

“That’s right.” 

“Are these called like any other animals?” he asks, pointing at the whole display of cars. 

“Not sure, honey, but we can look it up. Or just ask your mother.” 

While Mel follows Nick all over the store, Jared makes mental notes about all the toys Nick checks out and says he'd like for Christmas--perhaps he'll get a couple of them, if Wanda and Ian let them spoil their nephew. Mel just agrees with everything the toddler points at, saying that it's good ideas ‘for Santa’. 

A lot of things have changed thanks to Souls, including the number of people who believe in religions, but some things have remained, such as Christmas. Now that there's no currency the whole concept has changed, but it still is a chance to make children believe in Magic and to prolong their childish illusions. Souls accepted right from the start, even Wanda, that in some cases, especially involving children, it is better to lie. 

“Oh, hello there. Hadn’t seen you in here,” Jared says at the other aisle. The way he spoke, it’s got to be a close friend rather than a simple acquaintance. Intrigued, Mel takes Nick’s hand. 

“Let's go this way,” she suggests, going around to return to the aisle to their left. There they meet Jared. . . And also Ayesha McKenna and her son, Charlie, both Souls. Mel puts on a bright smile as she greets them warmly, prompting Nick to do the same. 

“Last-minute Christmas shopping for Santa Claus?” asks Ayesha, a sly smile on her lips. 

“Something like that,” nods Mel. 

“Hey, Nick, what’re you asking Santa Claus for?” interjects Charlie, over-excited. That is a conversation Nick could not resist, not for his own mother and father, and the two toddlers start talking excitedly about all the toys they've seen and added to the shopping list for Santa Claus. This gives the adults all of five or six minutes to catch up on each other’s families. Everyone’s lucky enough--not really luck, after all, just the way a Souls society work--to enjoy good health and enjoy their jobs. They agree to meet right after Christmas for another family dinner. There’ll never be enough of those between the O’Sheas and the McKennas. 

“Do you want me to take Nick off your hands for a while? I’ve still got to check a few toy stores too,” suggests Ayesha, a sly grin. She knows Mel and Jared could do with a couple minutes alone to get a few toys for Nick. 

“What do you want to do, buddy?” asks Jared. 

Heart in a fist, Mel holds her breath as she looks down on Nick, asking him what he wants to do. It is his choice, after all--maybe spending the afternoon with a toddler his same age and their mother is a better prospect than spending it with his uncle and aunt, although they spoil him rotten to no ends. That’s why she’s over the moon when Nick refuses, as politely as a six-year-old raised by Wanda can be. 

“No, thanks. I want to stay with uncle Jared and auntie Mel.”

“Okay, then,” says Ayesha, not at all offended by the rejection. “Enjoy your afternoon, young man. I’ll see you very soon. Say goodbye, Charlie.” 

Mel, Nick, and Jared stay where they are, in the middle of the aisle, until Ayesha and Charlie disappear, headed for the stuffed animals' section. Then it’s back to Nick’s time and Mel kneels in front of the toddler. 

“Come on, d’you want to check out the Lego section, buddy? Or should we go to have some waffles?” she suggests. 

The toddler ponders the possibilities for a second or two--Jared and Mel grin, guessing what the kid’s resolution’s going to be. 

“Can we check out the Legos and then eat waffles?” he asks. 

Both uncle and aunt burst out laughing, to the surprise of Nick and a few other customers passing by--they do know their niece. 

“Of course we can,” promises Mel, leading the way.


	4. Anniversary

> _The eastern half of the Roman Empire, identified in history as the Byzantine Empire, would last another thousand years..._

Someone knocks on the door at that moment and I only give them permission to get in once I get to the end of the sentence and the presentation. Leaning back on my chair, I rub my eyes just as Ian steps into my office, an apology already written on his face.

"Hey,” he greets me softly, because he knows he's interrupting my latest check-up on today's lecture.

I am kind of burning the candle on both ends lately, and I welcome him in tiredly, pushing away from the desk as to give him space to sit on the edge of the desk, in front of me. All my ails disappear with his sole presence and I smile proudly upon seeing his warm smile and those blue eyes.

“I thought I might join you today,” he says, grabbing my hands and bringing them to his lips.

“That would be lovely. Have you--”

"It’s all cleared out with my bosses, don’t worry. Now, will you let me enjoy your lecture in peace?”

“Of course. Although I’m not sure how peaceful it’s going to be,” I confess. With more humans and less Souls attending the lectures, sometimes it’s difficult to control the class and the discussions. I don’t let Ian get concerned as I check the clock and realize I need to get going or else I’ll be late.

Ian takes the flash drive off the computer as I collect my folders and textbooks and stuff it all inside my bag, except for the five-pages summary. Ian takes the bag off my hands, choosing instead to rest his free hand on my lower back to guide me.

Having him dragging me into class I don't really look where I'm going and instead, I make a profit of those extra minutes to keep reading my notes. Ian keeps quiet, knowing how tense and stressed I get before any of my classes, as we step into the sun and I squint my eyes against the sudden light.

I do raise my head when we're in the shades again. I know my campus enough to know that we should have walked for at least five to ten minutes before reaching building C, where I hold my classes. Instead, we've just walked across the interior gardens of building A--straight for the auditorium.

“Has it really been so long since you attended one of my classes?” I ask. 

“Dean asked me to meet him here,” he says. As if that didn’t raise a thousand more questions. But before I get the chance to ask, he opens the doors and pushes me forward. 

A deafening ovation assaults me, leaving me speechless even as Nick runs straight into my arms and hangs from my hand. The auditorium is full to the brim, including current and former students from my class, colleagues, my family, most of the cell from the caves. In the back of the room I get a glimpse of a TV crew. 

Hundreds of people, Souls and humans, standing to applaud. . . Me. I even check if there's someone else behind me who deserves such an ovation, making the people closest to ms burst out laughing, as the Dean comes to meet me and Ian pushes me forward. My legs finally remember how to work and I shake hands with a few people, recognizing as well some neighbors--and all of them, without fail, seize the chance to thank me. 

Ian squeezes my shoulder. He's probably seen the distressed look on my face as I find my way through the aisle, towards the stage, Nick still grabbing my hand, Mel, Jared, Jeb and Nicholas behind us.

Up there on the stage, there's a banner, congratulating me for my fifth year anniversary--and yet I’m still clueless. What in the world are they talking about? 

“You really have no idea?” Ian asks in a whisper as I take the time to shake hands with a former student. 

“No, but feel free to fill in the gaps,” I scowl. 

He chuckles upon my nervousness and bad temper in the midst of such a celebratory ovation and celebration. Up there in the front row, there's the members of Congress and some empty seats belonging to the family members behind me and possibly some faculty figures who are currently standing on the stage. The applaud lingers, several minutes past since my arrival, over the music. 

“It’s been five years since your first lecture back at College,” Ian explains and I gasp in response, finally understanding. “Five years since you changed the world, Wanda. Everyone wanted to come.” 

I nod and finally, halfway to the stage, I don’t feel so uncomfortable by all the people shaking my hand and hugging me with tears in their eyes. Well, I do feel uncomfortable for being the center of attention of the whole damn auditorium, but at least I’ve got some idea of why is this whole thing happening, and sometimes manage to act accordingly. 

Finally, we reach the steps leading to the stage. As Nick or Jeb wanted to make their way to their seats, I squeeze Ian's hand till it hurts him, almost scratching his skin with my nails. 

“Do. Not. Leave. Me. Alone,” I forbid him. 

He bursts out laughing but complies either way, giving my bag to his father and gesturing towards Mel, Jared, and Jamie. They seem all too excited to follow me upstairs and I let them go first, making sure that Nick finds his seat on the front row by his grandfather's side. That distracts me for only so long and too soon I need to find my family, members of College and Congress up there on the stage.

Following Ian's example, I wave at the crowd and the cheers raise again. I do try to keep a fake smile on my lips the whole time, painfully aware of the TV crew down there. 

At long last the crowd settles, everyone takes their seat and I'm offered a microphone as Congressman Marcus starts his speech. 

“Five years, ladies and gentlemen,” he manages to say before another burst of applause makes him take a twenty-seconds break. “Five years since Wanderer came back to classes here in San Diego to set in motion what turned out to be the biggest game-changing event in the history of Souls.” 

As another applause breaks out, I respectfully bow my head at the crowd and Congressman Marcus. 

“A plan so simple, yet so brilliant, that spoke to millions of Souls over the course of just a few months: to love the Earth and its riches. A simple enough premise everyone here agrees with,” he looks at the crowd for confirmation and some cheers arise, “that gave us our Planet back. For that, Wanderer, we’ll be eternally grateful.” 

I blush, my hands shaking, by the latest burst of applause. Hiding my hands to my side, I simply bow my head again in acknowledgment. 

“Now, I don’t know if you thought your initiative would have this kind of success in a little over an academic year--” 

“Oh, no, I definitely thought I would end in jail my first week of teaching,” I joke. My social skills have without a doubt improved over the years, for I make the whole auditorium laugh, instead of chastising me for interrupting Congressman Marcus.

“I promise you there are no agents of the Law outside the doors,” promises the Dean. 

“Are you sure? Do I need to send out scouts?” I ask, pointing at my family standing by my side, who burst out laughing too. 

After a few beats, Congressman Marcus resumes his speech. 

“I don’t think anyone could have predicted the humongous success you had,” he says. “No one needs any reminders, but just so we’re clear of everything she’s done, here are a few figures.” 

As a screen lowers behind as, the lights turn off and my family and I step to the side so we don't stand right in front of the projection. A graphic shows, and then more figures and statistics follow, one after the other. Stats of Souls leaving. Of humans coming out of their shelters and rejoining society and their families. Of humans being discharged from the Recovery Centers after regaining their memories. Humans coexisting, for once, with Souls in peace. The technological advances, the healed environment, the lack of conflicts and wars. Souls and humans working together and bonding over any kind of events: working at the botanical gardens, doing excursions, learning about the resources around the globe. But also, the bad news--can't have one without the other. The humans who perished. The Souls who perished. Those invaluable lost lives. 

They even highlight Ian being the biological father of Nick and deciding to keep the baby even before formulating such a plan at College, where all prospects of Nick’s future was a life in hiding in the caves with the rest of us. 

After some very long minutes, I'm crying before another wave of applause breaks out. Ian rests his arm around my shoulders to comfort me, Mel caresses my arm, Jamie squeezes my hand. This time the ovation lingers several minutes, giving me time to spare to calm down. 

Then it’s the Dean who takes the microphone, as my family respectfully steps back again. 

“I’m not sure there’s much I can say after that, so I’ll keep it simple. Wanda, on behalf of all the faculty we want to say that it’s been an honor and a privilege to have you around all these years, to see the world’s changing begin literally from within these walls, to attend your lectures and, on a more personal note, to make your acquaintance and getting to know you personally. You are one of a kind and there’s not a single person in here who’s ever going to forget what you’ve done.” 

“Thank you,” I manage to whisper. 

“Now, I know you’re going to hate me for putting you in the crosshairs without warning or preparation, but perhaps there is something you might like to add,” he says, pointing at center stage. For me to take the spotlight right on.

My family and closest friends cheer for me loudest, knowing that every public appearance I've done in the past five years, I've prepared for extensively, worked on the speech with my family and rehearsed it ad nauseam. Now I'm all alone in front of hundreds of people with only my microphone. 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, I totally knew what day it was today,” I joke, partially to make time and assess my thoughts. “Wow. I cannot believe it’s been five years. Listening to all you said, Congressman Marcus, I almost thought that it was impossible for all of that to have happened in the span of only five years--but at the same time, if you’d asked me to do the math, I’d have said it’s been three years tops since that first lecture. Crazy how time works, doesn’t it? Someone needs to write about that.”

Oh, Gosh. My confidence, dwindling since I stepped inside the auditorium, is almost gone now. I turn to look at Mel--if there’s someone amongst the crowd who’s going to help me, it’s her. But she simply shakes her head and points at the crowd, with a broad, confident smile. I know she’s not refusing to help me, she would if it came to it. It’s just that she believes I can finish the speech by myself. And her trust gives me the final boost I needed. 

“There’s not much that I can say. Actually, there is one request I want to make. Please, stop thanking me for what I did. We all did it--by trusting Souls to come out of your shelters, to go to the Recovery Centers and have your Souls extracted from your Hosts, by trying to accept and move one from everything that happened. Stop looking at the past and look towards the future. Start enjoying this brand new life you’ve got, because it's the only one remaining for us. Stop worrying and being paranoid, stop looking above your shoulder, and just enjoy your life with your family, whether it's human or Soul.”

My words are met with cheers and more applause. I stand there for some moments until I realize they'rd not going to stop anytime soon and that's when I meet first with Ian, then with the Dean. Following my brief and simple instructions, my family leaves the stage and the Dean asks the members of Congress and the faculty members to do so too. 

“Now, I would be fairly disappointed if my students had hoped to skip today’s lecture just because of a meager celebration,” I say. 

“But that’s why we’re here!!” someone yells in the crowd, and dozens of people agree. 

“Good,” I approve. 

On the screen behind me appears the presentation I'd prepared for a much smaller audience in a much smaller classroom. And yet, I'll have no problem making it here--the remaining microphones are already being distributed around the auditorium. I'm handed the remote control of the computer for the presentation and Martha, an assistant from College, comes running to take my microphone and giving me a hand with an over-the-ear one, so I’m hands-free for the lecture. 

“Thank you.” 

I move on to explain to old and current students and colleagues the dynamic of my lectures and that I expect full participation from the audience--including all members of Congress, who I’m assuming that’s why they’ve stayed behind and not left to attend other important stuff they should be taking care of. 

“Well, let’s start, shall we?” I ask then. 


	5. Sickness and Health

In order not to bother the patient and avoid waking her up in case she’s managed to fall asleep, I simply text Jared that I’m already there--by the time I step out of the elevator, he’s already there on the threshold, waiting anxiously. 

“Wanda. Thank you for coming,” he greets, kissing me on the cheek. 

“No problem. How’s she?” 

“Her fever’s rising. Over 100 degrees last I checked.” 

“It’s OK, I come bearing gifts,” I promise, showing the paper bag I’m carrying, filled to the brim with medicines that’ll help Mel get better in a matter of minutes. However, Jared doesn’t even have that kind of time--he’s already late as it is. 

Over the corner I see Jamie, already wearing his School uniform, a deep frown between his eyes. 

“Hey, Jamie, good morning. I don’t want to see any blue faces around here, you know Mel’s going to be alright. Come on, you two, get out of here,” I order, moving away from the entrance door. 

“I’ve made a pot of coffee and there’s soup in the fridge,” says Jared while Jamie goes to pick up his things for school. “And just take whatever you want to eat for yourself.” 

“Thanks,” I appreciate, the unsaid words clear to me: feel like home, because this place also is a second home of sorts for me. I’ve spent hours on end here joking, playing and cooking with Mel, Jamie and Jared. “Now get going, really--we’ll be fine.” 

Jamie hugs me tightly and kisses my cheek. 

“Thank you, Wanda.” 

“You don’t need to thank me,” I reply and then I turn towards Jared, stressed out and anxious-looking. “And may I ask to show some restraint and not to call me every five minutes? It’ll be more annoying than helpful. Trust me, Mel will be alright.” 

“Yeah, I know,” nods Jared, kissing me one more time. “I’ll stop by for lunch. Just text me if you need anything.” 

He grabs Jamie’s shoulder to drag him away and finally the two of them leave the apartment. I sigh deeply against the blessed shut door behind me. Well, no wonder Mel prefers to spend her time sick sleeping, what with her boyfriend and little brother breathing down her neck this way--I’m exhausted after a couple of minutes dealing with their unnecessary worry. 

I go to the kitchen for a glass of water and to prepare the medication Mel’s going to need: Cool for the fever, Breathe aerosol to free her nose and airways from snot, the Tender pills for the sore throat and the coughing. I carry it all in a small plate to Mel’s bedroom. 

Turning on the lights from the corridor, I peek inside--and it breaks my heart to see Mel actually asleep on her bed. I only step inside and sit by her side because I know that, after I wake her and she moves on from her anger, she’ll feel much better in a matter of minutes. Jared’s placed a cool towel on her head, there’s a bottle of water on the floor by the bed, a collection of tissues and a thermometer on the nightstand. This would be a usual sight back in the day when someone caught a cold, but not anymore. 

“Wanda?” she asks, pitiful voice, her eyes squinting at the bright light. She immediately starts coughing and turns the other way. 

“Yes, it’s me. Here, take this.” 

I hand her the medication and she doesn’t argue, knowing that anything I might give her will help her instantly. After she swallows and takes everything, she rests heavily on the pillow, closing her eyes. We wait in silence, me holding her sweaty hand, until her breathing returns to normal, her airways freed again, her fever down. 

Mel opens her eyes in shock, looking around. Focused, even alert, she seems to be OK now. We both smile. 

“Wow,” she praises. “It still feels like magic. I’ll never get used to it.” 

I chuckle, leaning down to check her temperature--but, of course, her fever’s gone. Instead, I give her a pick on the cheek. 

“No magic,” I promise once more. “But you’re still taking the day off. Your body needs to rest and, above all, lots of liquids.” 

With those last words, I grab the bottle of water from the floor and hand it to her. Mel nods at that and takes a very large sip, now that she’s able to drink and swallow properly. She’s been dehydrated for some hours and needs to make up for it. 

“I know you’re feeling fine now, but try to get some sleep,” I recommend then, taking the bottle off her hands. “I’ll be right outside, in case you need anything.” 

“Won’t you stay?” she begs. “Tell me more about the worlds out there.” 

I freeze and ponder the demand for a couple of seconds. Being a Soul, especially considering my Calling, I cannot simply shrug it off. But I also know that Mel needs and deserves some more hours of sound sleep. 

“Maybe later,” I settle. “We have all day.” 

“I’ll take you up on that.” 

“I know.” Chuckling, I grab the glass of water and the plate and stand, but Mel grabs me by the wrist and pulls me down again. 

“Thank you, Wanderer.” 

“You really don’t have to thank me,” I reply, rolling my eyes upon remembering the same exchange a few minutes ago with Jared. I’ll know we’re back in a full operative Soul society when the people closest to me stop thanking me for doing what they know I do happily, such as taking care of my family. That’s just for granted for us Souls. “Call me if you need anything.”


	6. Breaking the news

“You cannot be serious.” 

“You tell me, Jeb,” the girl dares me, holding my gaze in defiance for the first time in her whole, ling life. The frown between my eyes deepens as seconds linger. She is serious. I see it in her eyes--that same delusion and decision she had once upon a time, when she was set to leave the caves, and many times since, such as when she volunteered to those missions to find humans even though she knew the risks she’d be in. 

“You're set?” I ask, hopelessness in my voice. It shocks Kyle and many others to the core--they’d expected me of all people to put up the stronger fight. But, why should I? Back in the day I too respected, although could not understand at the moment, Wanda’s decision to leave the Earth. Now I understand it just as much as I accept it. Why should I oppose it now? I’ve long since learnt it’s not right or proper telling the girl what she should do. 

“We are,” says Wanda on behalf of herself and Ian. This is it, then. Kyle, Sunny, Denny, Nicholas Sr., Hannah and God can complain and discuss this as long as they want to, but I stay out of it. I know we’re not budging any minds today, not ever. At least we got a notice in advance this time. 

“We’re going to stay here for a few years more, just so Nick has a chance to enjoy hia childhood here on his birthplace,” explains Ian very slowly, “but that’s about it. We are leaving and there’s no more to it.” 

More than half an hour later some people still refuse to see the truth and are still arguing with Ian and Wanda, whereas I just stay silent on my seat. If Kyle and the others used their brains at all for once in their lives, there’d be no point in this discussion at all. They could see--should be able to see--Wanda's true reason for leaving the Earth. And no one, much less us, will take that right and that decision from her hands. 

Music slips into my mind and I need five whole seconds to realize it was Nicholas playing on the piano, a habit and a hobby he’s indulging more and more lately, which I understand, brings him closer to his wife than he’s felt in a very long time. Per Ian’s explanations, Olivia used to play every so often at their place, but music was gone when she did, and it’s beautiful to see Nicholas making an effort to preserve her memory. 

I have to thank him for his kindness and thoughtfulness someday--he's interjected a discussion that could have lingered for hours, days or, actually, years on end. With his music comes silence and peace. With his music, even Wanda dares to smile at her father-in-law. Looking around the living room, I see everyone's decided, silently, to drop the subject, at least for now. 

Seeing Wanda at ease after the discussion she so clearly dislikes that we put her through brings a smile to my lips too. Before I know it I'm standing from the chair and offering Wanda my hand. She takes it after a couple seconds and I lead her to the space between the dining table and the couches--our make believe dancing room. 

She rests a hand on my shoulder and I lead. It’s been centuries since I’ve held a woman like this, in a ballroom of sorts, but somehow it all comes back to me at that moment. We sway easily in a small circle, on the space between the couch and the dining table, and I try not to step on Wanda’s toes. Makes me proud that Wanda should feel so comfortable and peaceful in my embrace that she rests her head against my shoulder. Although some time later I reflect if she did so to shy away her family’s looks, to hide from all of us that she’s crying. 

“Sharing,” I beg of her in a whisper, barely above Nicholas’ music. 

She doesn’t react, doesn't stop the dance or pulls away, and so I believe that she’s giving me permission to say or ask whatever I want. 

“I will just ask you once. Are you completely sure?”

For the longest time she lets me believe she won't answer my question and I find myself thinking that it's OK, it isn't my place to judge or interfere, and certainly not my place to question them now. But in the end she does give me a monosyllabic answer, through her tears. 

“No.”

At that I just hold her tighter and gently pull her in for her to rest against my chest again. No, she's not certain, she's not even ready, but she will. This is something she just has to do, even if it means dragging half her family across the galaxy. Somehow I find myself supporting her in a decision I should feel all but supportive.

“Come here,” I whisper, letting her lean forward, rest her head on my chest. 

More partners--Mel and Jared, Joe and Hannah, Kyle and Sunny--stand and join us on the improvised dance floor, barely doing any better than I am swaying with Wanda between my arms, and I keep quiet. I didn’t ask her to dance to keep nagging her and hammering her with unsolicited questions. She doesn’t deserve that treatment from me. So, instead, I just keep her close to my chest, wondering how many more moments out of time we’ll have before they leave, and keep on dancing with her until Ian asks for Wanda’s hand.


	7. Motherly instincts

Exhausted, almost ready to drop, we still somehow find the strength to talk all about this past week’s adventure with the McKennas to Peru. Nick’s been talking non-stop about it, with uncanny details, giving us a summary of the trip as if we all hadn’t been there right alongside with him up to Machu Picchu and a dozen other landmarks of the place. It almost looks like he wants to start a diary about the journey--well, it could be, since there are new technologies nowadays that record your speech. But hell, even if he wasn’t doing so, Jamie would, so we’re out of luck either way. 

A couple of miles after leaving the airport, the car behind us turns on his lights to leave the road and I honk as a goodbye. My family waves at the McKennas as they drive past and Nick even attempts to be heard from the other vehicle, the way he’s yelling. We are seeing them again just a couple of weeks and it kind of makes the separation unnecessarily melodramatic. 

Half an hour later I pull out in front of Wanda’s and her father-in-law’s place. 

“End of the ride,” I say, killing the engine and turning to meet my family. By my side, Wanda’s been yawning all the way in and I actually woke Ian up, who was close to dozing off against the window, whereas his kid, sitting on Mel’s lap throughout the whole trip from the airport, is just as energetic as ever. 

“Thanks, uncle Jared!” he chimes. 

“You’re very welcome, kiddo,” I say. Mel helps Nick out of the car and they go around to the truck and take out Wanda’s, Ian’s and Nick’s luggage. When Mel struggles with one of the bags, Nick steps in to save her. 

“Gimme! I’ll take that!” he says, reaching his hands. 

“You sure, buddy?” I ask while looking for a child-size bag a nine-year-old could carry and settling on a small vanity case. 

“Yes! I want to help!” promises Nick. 

“OK then, take this, please.” 

Ian’s father comes out of the building and holds the door open for his grandson, knowing better than to offer for help with the vanity case he’s so proudly carrying. 

“Hello everyone! We’ve missed you! How was your trip?” he asks, way more excited than our tired little group. However, he takes all the coats from our hands, leaving us with taking out and carrying the heavier stuff. We finish soon enough. 

“You all set?” I ask when all their bags are out on the street. 

“Think so, thank you,” appreciates Ian. 

“No worries. See you in the morning,” I say, about to close the caravan’s truck. 

“Don’t be daft,” scowls Wanda, the sudden outburst freezing me on the spot and forcing me to burst out laughing--tiredness does bring the worse out of Souls. “Stay the night. Please.” 

“You know there’s more than enough space for you,” says Nicholas when we look at him for approval. 

When Nick returns, first looking for more bags, he then seems to get a whiff of what’s going on. His eyebrows frowned, he looks all around the small circle of adults, wondering why no one’s talking or explaining things. But then Wanda confirms his worse fears with a single question. 

“Well, are you staying or not?” 

Nick turns towards Mel and me in fright and shock. “I want aunt Mel and uncle Jared to stay with us!” he complains. His grandfather kneels by his side and tries to reason with him. 

“Honey, it’s up to them, we cannot force them to--” “But I want them to stay!!” he insists. 

Not at all upset by her son’s spoiled and ill-mannered behavior, which she could put a stop to if she wanted to, Wanda looks at Mel and me alternatively, eyebrows raised, slightly amused, the invite clear. I sigh and leave the decision to Mel. She kneels in front of Nick. 

“D’you really want us to stay?” 

“Yes!” he repeats stubbornly. 

“Then we’re staying.” 

The toddler celebrates the decision by jumping into Mel’s arms, where she receives him gladly, carrying him inside. As the rest of our family also approve the decision with nods of their heads, I open the truck again and take Mel’s, Jamie’s and my bags out, spreading them out for all of us to carry. I’m the last one to enter the building, after locking the car. 

Three stories up, we finally reach a home--of sorts. I’d rather we were at our place, but this is kind of home away from home, considering the amount of time we spend in here, for lunches, dinners, movies or just cocktails. When I finally drop the suitcases, I sigh, a little smile on my lips. In spite of how much I enjoyed the trip, I’m so glad to be back and have some peace and quiet at long last. 

Nicholas has put the kettle on before meeting us downstairs and so he pours tea for all of us in the living room, where we settle anywhere we want--on the couches, sofa, or the dining table. Nicholas compels us to explain the voyage, sparing no insignificant detail, and Nick and Jamie are just too glad to oblige, taking center stage for the speech. However, the former soon gets bored and starts demanding his parents’ attention. For some minutes they manage to distract him with a jigsaw puzzle, but then again it’s not really a long-term solution. When Nick shows signs of getting bored again, Mel’s more than happy to step in for his parents. 

“Would you like to play with auntie Mel for a while, sweetie?” she asks. 

“Oh, that’s not--” 

Mel shushes Wanda with a wave of her hand. “Oh, tush. What games do you have, honey?” 

As she takes Nick to his bedroom he starts listing them all, until his voice vanishes. Mel's intervention grants us another whole hour of catching up and joking, while she lays on the carpeted floor with the boy, playing numerous games like 20 questions or building bridges out of straws. Later, Ian joins the game and in the end, so do we all. 

Nick’s tiredness puts a stop to the games when he almost dozes off in her mother’s lap and she has to take him to sleep--but not before he wishes everyone good night. Mel seizes the chance to give him the biggest hug and kiss on the cheek. Afterwards, she hides from me by picking up the cards we’d been playing with. 

“You hungry?” asks Nicholas then, without leaving me the chance of pulling Mel to one side and talk. 

“Should we order in?” I suggest. 

Nicholas scoffs, waving the suggestion away, smiling triumphantly. He needs some help from Jamie to stand from the ground, but he never loses that grin. 

“D’you really think I’d make you order take away on your first day back?” 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” asks Ian, dreading to be hopeful. His father winks at him, giving us the answer. 

“You’ll see in a minute. Set the table, will you?” 

We heed the order with invigorated strength and he goes to the kitchen. The menu is revealed soon, simple pasta salad, but it sounds like good from heaven itself after what we were offered to eat on the plane. We have to control our urges and wait for Wanda to emerge from the bedrooms before we sit down on the dining table to eat. 

“Nick?” wonders Mel as I hand her the jar of water. 

“Sound asleep, he was exhausted,” says Wanda with a tired smile. 

“Line forms behind me,” scowls Jamie, dramatically caressing his shoulders and neck. 

“Look at you,” laughs Nicholas, “the youngest, complaining the most. . .” 

“Well, precisely for being the youngest, I’ve worked harsher than anyone else.” 

“Should be able to handle the workload at your young age, shouldn’t you?” 

“That’s my point! There are limits! They have exploited me!” complains Jamie. 

“Exploited,” we all scoff, grins on our mouths, without really raising our eyes from the dishes, apart from the random and dramatic roll of eyes. 

“Child labor? That’s no good, guys,” Nicholas reprimands us jokingly. “I’ll have to come next time to oversee things.” 

“Please do,” begs Jamie. 

That’s the end of the conversation and we all enjoy some minutes of eating in silence--even Nicholas understands we’re worn out. It’s him, actually, who speaks up again, later on, pointing his fork at me and Mel, in front of him at the other end of the table. 

“By the way, Mel, Jared--spoken to your families yet?” 

“I called my father after we landed,” nods she. 

“I texted Sam to tell him we were sleeping over,” I say. That brief message is more than enough for the time being. They’ll survive not seeing me for another day. 

At some point throughout dinner, when Jamie and I had already asked for a refill, Nick’s fainted voice raises from the bedroom to the dining room--calling out his parents. I sense Mel standing and I caress her arm, making her stop. By then, Ian’s on his feet already, after squeezing Wanda’s hand so she stays put this time. 

“Be right there, buddy!” promises Ian. Instead of heading straight for the bedroom, however, he stops by the kitchen for a glass of water. He certainly knows his kid well if that’s what Nick needed and asked for. 

Ian returns after ten minutes, resuming his seat by his father’s side and winking at Wanda. 

“He’s alright now,” he says, picking up his fork again. 

“Actually, I think you all should follow Nick’s example and go to bed, preferably before you drop over your dinner,” says Nicholas. “Go change, now. Jamie, you’ll be sleeping in the guest room, OK?” 

“No, Nicholas, that’s not--” Mel tries to stop him. By that sleeping arrangement, it means that Mel and I will take Nicholas’ room, Jamie the guest room and Nicholas would sleep on the couch. . . Which we simply cannot allow. 

“I’ll have none of it,” Nicholas stops what could have been a very long discussion, which honestly I appreciate. I’m too beat to act like Wanda--or any Soul--would expect from us and insist on Nicholas sleeping on his bed. 

Despite Nicholas’ complains, we consider a personal success the goal of clearing out the table and wash the dishes before he sends us all off to bed. 

Out in the guest room, Mel and I barely have the strength to undress, much less look for our PJ’s somewhere inside our bags. Nicholas blissfully prepared the bed--he clearly expected to host us both tonight as well--and we settle under the blankets, embracing each other, almost too tired to talk. Far away, we hear the fainted sound of the TV, from Nicholas watching some program or another, barely audible. 

But there is something I need to get out of my chest and this is as good a time as any, I reckon. I just simply cannot wait till we’re all alone at our place tomorrow. 

“Can I ask you something?” I whisper. 

In my arms, Mel stirs--she was dozing off already. With cold fingers, she caresses my chest hair absentmindedly. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“D’you remember a conversation we had a bunch of years ago, right after we met?” 

I can literally sense her smiling against my chest, reminiscing fondly a time we spent in hiding, in fear. . . And madly in love. 

“You’re going to have to be a tad more specific.” 

“Concerning. . . Certain social conventions,” I blurt out in the end. 

Completely awake now, Mel turns to switch on the bedside lamp and, leaning on her elbow, looks at me straight in the eye, serious and dumbfounded. This clearly isn’t going where she thought would go. 

“Why bring it up now?” she demands coldly, wary. 

“Yes, I’m sorry, I should have asked way earlier.” 

“No, I meant exactly the opposite,” she scowls. “D’you really think it’s appropriate to talk about that now?” 

“Don’t get mad at me,” I beg of her, raising one hand to caress her cheek, but she pulls away from my touch. I can’t say I’m truly surprised by her reaction, but I was also fearing such a response. “I just wondered what you wanted to do.” 

“Jared, in just a few years we’re going to leave this planet. Don’t you think it’s kind of bad timing?” 

“That depends--what do you really want to do, Mel?” 

It’s taken me too long to realize so--probably because I never thought I’d live to see the day--but I’ve been watching Mel and Nick this trip. The way she looks at Nick and acts around him, always looking after and taking care of the boy, almost as if she were a second mother to him. It’s kind of funny, actually, when I think about all we’ve been through. Wanda became a second mother to Jamie all those years ago, back in the caves, up to the point where she literally risked her own life to save his. And now Mel’s growing right before my eyes, becoming a surrogate mother for Wanda’s own child. It’s true that I’ll never be able to understand their funny sisterly relationship. 

Be as it may, I’m positive about one thing.   
“You do want to be a mother,” I whisper, looking at Mel straight in the eye. 

Her silence, the fact that she doesn’t start yelling and contradicting me, confirms my so-obvious theory. How long has she been feeling like this? How long have I been so blind for? And I consider myself a proper boyfriend material? 

“Jared, I. . .” she stutters--the first sign that this whole thing concerns her deeply. “It doesn’t matter. Really.” 

“Like hell it doesn’t,” I scoff, sitting more straight. “I want you to be happy, Mel.” 

“I am happy, Jared. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. I’ve got you, and Jamie, and Wanda. . . I got my family back. How couldn’t I be happy?” 

“Don’t you want more?” I interject. 

She stays silent, possibly pondering if coming clean about her feelings or not. I don’t push her, letting her come to a decision all on her own, even though I want to scowl and yell and remind her she can always be honest with me, whatever the subject at hand. 

“Dammit,” she scowls in the end. She wipes some tears off her eyes that I would like to kiss away if I could. “Fine, Jared. You’re right. I would like a child. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“It doesn’t please me to force your hand, Mel,” I say softly. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because me confessing it out loud doesn’t change things. We are going to another Planet in just a few years--” 

“Mel, forget about that,” I say, my vehemence startling her a bit. “You don’t have to go to a forsaken Planet you’ve never heard of halfway across the Galaxy. If that’s the only reason why you’ve kept this for me, let’s get down to getting you pregnant right now.” 

This time I manage to make her chuckle, as she hurries to grab my chin to stop our lips from meeting. I growl as she pushes me away. 

“As romantic as that invitation is, I don’t think this is the proper time or place.” 

Only then do I remember that we’re not alone, much less at our place, and slowly I pull away. I lean my back against the wall, in a silent promise that I’ll try to behave from now on and Mel approves with an adorable smile. She raises a hand to stop me from speaking. 

“As I was saying, I’m fine with it, Jared. I’ve already made peace--” 

“I don’t want you to be fine, Mel--I want you to be happy, for Pete’s sake!” 

“I am, Jared,” she insists, holding my hands in hers. “Don’t you think I would have told you if I wanted my life to unfold differently than what we’ve planned? If I wanted to be a mother right now and not follow Wanda to the Mists Planet, believe me, you’d know--I would be pregnant already. 

“But I want to have a child in proper conditions. Wanda and Ian are staying behind for some more years because the trip could severely affect Nick’s physical and psychological development. I don’t want that to happen to our kid, either.” 

“Okay, I can understand that,” I promise, voice softer now that I’m getting to hear and comprehend all of Mel’s reasons. “But we still have options, Mel. Like doing the same thing Wanda and Ian are doing--having a child and letting him, or her, enjoy the first part of their life here and then leaving.” 

“No, I can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” I press immediately. 

“Wanda,” she says simply and I understand before she explains any further. I close my eyes as she talks. “She’s my sister too, just as much as Jamie. I cannot let her go to the Mists Planet all on her own. First, I don’t think I can survive the separation. And second, someone’s got to protect her, from the world and from herself.” 

I let some seconds pass by to make sure Mel’s finished listing her reasons. Then I look at her in the eye. 

“First, you _could_ live without her, just as she can live without you--you’re not oxygen for each other, you could survive. I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to try out the experiment, though. And second, she’ll have Ian.” 

Mel does not have an answer for my first point--but just raises an eyebrow to rebut the second one and I sigh. It’s been years and they’ve moved on, but Mel still holds Ian accountable for all that happened to Wanda those months we spent apart looking for our families. She had to go through an emergency extraction and insertion in a failed attempt to save both a human and a Soul who’d been shot and then she met Ian’s father and the human cell he’d been hiding with, which imprisoned her for days on end--and perhaps would have killed her if Nicholas hadn’t been there to protect her. And when we did meet up with them, they’d just set themselves to find all the remaining humans in hiding in the States and in the whole damn world. Yeah, even I had a hard time forgiving Ian for the mistakes he made so many years ago. Even now, sometimes, I get angry at his inability to protect Wanda properly--from herself too. 

“She’s told us time and time again, she doesn’t need protection out there,” I whisper, but I can tell it’s a lost cause already--and Mel’s little grin proves me so. Even I agree sometimes that Wanda’s too naïve and selfless for this forsaken world of ours and needs someone to keep her sane, and biased, when it’s necessary. “You don’t need to follow her throughout the Galaxy to babysit her.” 

“Jared, you know as well as I do that I am going with Wanderer, doesn’t matter what you say.” 

At that, I sigh deeply, bending to rest my head against hers. Yes, I knew that. 

“But, is this what you really want?” I ask again. I understand her reasons, but is she truly, honestly, OK with all of this? She’s giving up motherhood because of Wanderer. And although I could never hold it against Wanda--I would never forgive myself for it--Mel is still and forever will be my priority. I can see how much she wants this. See it in the way she smiles at Nick, the way she’s always looking after him, the way she spoils him rotten behind Wanda and Ian’s backs. 

“I think you’re still not taking into account the last possibility,” whispers Mel, sitting on my lap, her arms around my neck. 

“Oh? And what is it, I pray?” 

“We wait until we’re on the Mists Planet and have our children there,” says she. “I’ve spoken to the doctors. The trip won’t affect my eggs or my viability of carrying children. We can get right on our little project the minute we land.” 

I can’t help myself and lean forward to kiss her on the lips. 

“Then we leave tomorrow morning.” 

She bursts out laughing as I lean in to kiss her deeply, anxiously, on the mouth. She actually needs to slap me so I pull away and retreat, but I see in her eyes my same thoughts. Oh, if we were alone right now at our apartment. . . 

“Calm down, tiger,” she whispers, grabbing my chin to stop me from kissing her again, “there’ll be time for all of this later on.” 

“You’re not forbidding me from having sex with you, are you?” 

“Whenever have I said that?” she scowls with a roll of eyes at my naïvité and stupidity. Thank God that’s not what her plan entails, or I wouldn’t be able to fulfill her wishes. But this whole thing makes me realize something else too. 

“You said you’d checked in with Healers concerning your fertility after the trip,” I remember slowly, and then everything fits. “This was your idea all along, wasn’t it? Waiting to be settled at the Mists Planet to have children?” 

“Yes,” she confesses, giving me a quick peck. 

“Were you planning on telling me, or were you just going to ride me the minute we landed?” 

“Now that you say it like that. . .” she says slowly, her smug grin appearing again to her lips, wrapping my whole body with her arms and legs. “It does sound kinda sexy.” 

“Mel, for God’s sake, I wish you didn’t do this.” 

“Do what?” she asks nonchalantly. 

“I am trying to have a serious conversation with you,” I try not to lose my trail of thoughts while Mel leaves a trail of kisses on my jaw, neck, and collarbone. “The fact that you haven’t been open concerning your feelings and wishes. . . And why the heck would you consult a Healer without telling me? Oh, god.” 

My final moan as Mel takes me into her mouth makes her chuckle, which sends a shiver up my whole spine. I need to think of the Mists Planet with all my might for a few long seconds until I’m able to force Mel to stop and pull away, dropping on the bed by her side. 

“Why do I always have to be the responsible one?” I scowl, hiding my blushing face and my erection under the blankets. 

“I guess it has something to do with our age difference, old man,” she says, lying, delighted, on her side. But her next words make me see she’s nothing but immature and irresponsible and that she’s given this whole thing a lot of thinking. “Jared, I know sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, but we’ve got a lot of time yet. We can discuss this another day. Let’s just go to sleep.” 

“Fine,” I scowl. I lean to give her a goodnight kiss and then turn around, back facing Mel, to keep my mind clear of any possible sexual activities we might engage yet. When she throws her arms around my waist and shoulders, I take one of her hands and kiss all four knuckles.


	8. Wedding

“Champagne, sir?” the bartender asks the minute I lean on the bar. I wave my hand at the idea. 

“Water, please,” I beg. The man nods formally and turns to fetch my drink. I know drinking water in a wedding is like a PG-13 version of a porno movie, but my throat's dry and my head's dizzy. If I keep on drinking alcohol I'm going to need the assistance of the couple Healers gathered today. 

Enjoying the glass of the cold water in ice as if I were Moises and had spent forty years out in the desert, I sit on a free stool to catch my breath and take a look at the dance floor I've just escaped from--unnoticed, for the moment. Maybe, only maybe, Dad and Wanda were right and I should have paid more attention to those dancing classes back in the day. I just can’t keep up, whereas Wanda has been having the time of her life up there, dancing non-stop for the past hour. She doesn't lack dancing partners willing to step in either. 

I just didn’t see the point in those classes when I barely knew the bride and groom--can hardly consider them good friends. Yes, I understand things have changed now, and thanks to Souls I know my neighbors better than Dad ever did after spending more than ten years at the apartment we live in, before the Invasion. But still, someone has to explain why would that have Wanda, Dad and I invited to the wedding of a human and a Soul who live three stories below from us. 

As yet another song comes to an end, all the dancers take a few seconds to catch their breath and award the musicians with a round of applause. But less than ten seconds later the band is playing again and dancing partners are formed again. Wanda herself accepts to dance with another Soul, a complete stranger, even though she does look like she could use a rest. But she looks so radiant in that quite average blue dress that I can't bring myself to spoil her fun. 

The bride, a human, wanted to have a traditional wedding and so all the customs from back in the day--before the Invasion--have been carefully planned, overseen and executed. Starting by the maids of honor’s pitiful dresses to dim in comparison to the bride’s, to the magnificent cake prepared for the occasion, to the throwing of a bouquet. Some of those traditions I hadn’t even heard about before today and had to be filled in by my father--and Wanda too, of course. It wouldn’t be like hers to attend such a ceremony without knowing all there is to know about procedures and proper decorum at weddings. If nothing else. Of course, for some goddamn reason, that meant the men had to wear formal attire too, which just adds up to my discomfort. 

The playlist is starting to feel never-ending, I scowl when yet another song picks up, and so I finish my water and ask for a refill. Patience, I tell myself again. 

“Whisky. Neat,” a man orders by my side. Mr. Barrow, a 92-year-old human neighbor from our same building. Seems he's given up on the bowtie, the cufflinks, and even the suspenders and for some seconds I wish to follow his example. 

“Good night, Mr. Barrow.” 

“Yes, sure, terrific night. Aren’t you supposed to be on that dance floor with your partner?” 

“Oh, I’m not really good at it,” I confess. 

“Neither was I at your age, but you’ll get nowhere without practice, don’t you think? Alas, finally, boy! Took you long enough,” he scowls when the bartender comes around with his drink. Mr. Barrow takes a long sip and smiles broadly, approving the beverage. 

“And Mrs. Barrow?” I ask. 

“Went home. She was exhausted, poor thing.” 

“Sorry to hear she had to leave you.” 

“Oh, it’s alright, son. After fifty-five years together I think I’ll manage an evening on my own. We lived through the Apocalypse together, some hours alone will not hurt me.” 

Before I can think of an answer, Wanda’s laughter raises over the music. Out there on the dance floor, I see Jeb stepping in and claiming his chance with Wanda--again. I really should have paid more attention to those dancing classes. She hasn’t left the dancing area the whole evening and hasn’t stopped laughing either. Out there, turning and swaying with anyone who asks her for a dance, she’s glowing and having the time of her life. I can only hope that some days, on some level, I’m the cause of her happiness too. 

Mr. Barrow’s words keep ringing in my head. Fifty-five years together with his wife. . . I wonder if that’s possible for me and Wanda. . . I sure hope that’s what’s in store for us both. We met later in life than Mr. Barrow and his wife, sure, but Souls tech might just make it possible for us to live long enough. Or maybe we’re just going to meet our fate out there at the Mists Planet. Who the hell knows these days. 

Someone rests a hand on my shoulder--well, Wanda, actually. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed the ending of the last song and her coming to the bar. She’s a bit red and panting a little, but her broad smile tells me there’s no force on Earth that’ll keep her away from the dancing floor for the next song. Or the booze, for that matter. I’m just glad she’s enjoying herself. 

“Can’t handle your liquor, then?” teases Wanda, nodding at my glass of water. 

“Not at all,” I promise. “Champagne just isn’t my favorite cup of tea.”

Wanda laughs softly and then raises a hand to call the bartender, who comes straight away 

“A glass of bourbon, if you please. And another flute of champagne.” 

At that order from Wanda, I push the glass of water so the bartender takes it away when he comes around again. Wanda’s just asked my favorite drink, I’m not about to keep on drinking water--I was just trying to keep a clear head for when I’m supposed to drive back home, whenever that is. I point at the stool to my right and help Wanda, just a little bit intoxicated, to sit on it. 

“Is drinking all you’re going to do the rest of the evening?” scowls Mr. Barrow by my side when we get our drinks. “This is a party, for Pete’s sake.”

“Oh, Mr. Barrow, didn’t see you there. Are you enjoying the evening?” 

“I would if I could have a minute alone with my whiskey,” he scowls, his outburst surprising Wanda, but I can tell where Mr. Barrow’s intentions are with his sour mood. “Especially when I have to encourage your partner here in the meantime.” 

“I didn’t need any encouragement,” I promise. 

“Well, you haven’t taken me to dance since the first song. Now that you’ve had your liquid courage, are you up to the challenge?” 

To keep up appearances I rush to finish up my drink, but deep down I appreciate Wanda and Mr. Barrow pushing me--it got me another dance with Wanda, however clumsy and lame a dancer I might be. Just to see her so darn happy twirling and swaying in my arms is reward enough to suffering a few minutes of embarrassment. And then a few minutes more with the next song, and then a third, and soon Wanda forbids me from leaving the dance floor altogether. She doesn’t let any other partners stepping in and whisking her off, not even Jeb, so I’m totally fine with it. Especially when I realize there are few good dancers up here, the majority of people are just pretending to know the steps and aim at having fun. 

At some point, a slow song comes around and I wrap Wanda in my arms, letting her rest against my chest, swaying lamely amongst dozens of other couples, including the bride and groom. Mr. Barrow’s disappeared from the bar a long time ago and the vast majority of families have too--it’s past bedtime for most of the children who came here. 

This gives me the opportunity I’ve been waiting forever since we took our seats on the church. I lean my head to scrape Wanda’s hair and she looks up, as I knew she would. 

“Should I have realized this sooner? Do you want us to get married?” 

She smiles softly, shaking her head. 

“No, Ian, I don’t. Marriage. . . You know it doesn’t mean the same to me than to humans.”

“Yes, but--” She interjects me by resting a hand against my lips. 

“I don’t need rings and a piece of paper to tell you I love you,” she says. “Hardly any couple we know has ever performed a bonding, and that’s the ultimate proof of love I need from you, Ian. It’d be different if you told me you needed to--” 

“No, that’s not it,” I assure her immediately. “It’s just another human experience I want you to know, I guess. You’re going to leave soon. You better take advantage of the time you have left.” 

She takes my hand and kisses my palm tenderly. 

“Okay. I’ll think about it. Maybe something small, just the family and us.” 

“Yeah, no problem. I could use marrying you without wearing a freaking costume,” I chuckle. “On the other hand, however, there are some other ways to prove my love to you.” 

The intricacies of human interaction are not a mystery to Wanda anymore, she actually looks forward to fulfilling them quite often, and so she understands my innuendo right away. However, they are still enough to make her blush and take a look around to make sure no one heard me. There were no couples around, but I couldn’t give a damn if someone heard. It’s totally normal. 

“Let’s just finish the song,” she begs and I could never say no to her, so I pull her closer, her head on my shoulder, and kiss her cheek. 

“We can stay for as long as you wish, my dear Wanderer,” I promise.


	9. News from Congress

After playing all morning at the park, I’m completely beat. Although the main reason for our games is to get Nick outside and for him to exercise, I’m way more tired than our toddler. This is why it's probably wise for Ian to be the one to carry Nick on his shoulders, the toddler carrying the football under his arm, on our way back to the apartment.

Ian‘s father came back a little while ago in order to start preparing lunch and as it turns out, we're late: Kyle and Sunny are already waiting for us, but they couldn't care less about our not being on time. They know we just were out with Nick, having fun. Kyle greets the toddler exuberantly--fulfilling the role of funny uncle he never thought he'd be taking care of. 

“Mom, I’m starving,” complains Nick after a few minutes. 

“Lunch will be ready soon,” promises Nicholas, winking at the child before he heads for the kitchen. I raise too, but address Nick a simple order. 

“In that case, you know what to do, honey,” I say warmly. “Hands and face, please. With soap.” 

“Okay!” he says, running towards the aisle leading to the bathroom. 

“Hold on, what about this?” Ian stops him.

He points at the football we’ve carelessly left on the corner of the dining room. Nick walks back, grabs the football and takes it to his room--the playing room, really. Ian follows him to the bathroom to check Nick’s work on washing his hands. Kyle asks about the morning we spent at the park--he clearly regrets missing out on some quality time with his nephew. I hear Sunny at the kitchen, asking if she should start prepping the dining table and remorse hits me in turn for slacking off. 

As I make my way to the kitchen the phone rings and I change my course to answer it. I recognize Mel and Jared's number. 

“Well, hello, there, Mel,” I greet. Knowing Jamie is spending more and more time with his parents now, it just had to be her. “Have you changed your mind about lunch? We can wait for you.” 

“No, that’s not it, thank you--we’re eating with my folks. Have you checked your mail?” 

“We just got back,” I say. I’m already heading towards my desktop to grab my computer--she wouldn't be telling me to check the mail if it wasn’t truly important, not on a Sunday that she knew we’d spend with our family. “What is it?”

“Congress has sent us a new mail,” Mel answers. 

The fact that it’s totally normal for our family to be constantly in contact with the highest institution of the country shouldn’t be considered normal--but it just is, for us. I just don’t ponder it anymore as I lay the computer on the kitchen island for everyone to see. Even Nicholas has momentarily forgotten about lunch, wiping off his hands on a napkin.

“News from Congress,” I announce as Sunny, Kyle, Nicholas and even Ian pops out his head from the hallway. 

“What is it?” Kyle asks, repeating my own question from two minutes ago, looking over my shoulder with eyebrows frowned. I laugh softly and rest a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. Ever since those missions to find humans where Martin nearly killed me off twice, and because of every little tiny task I was assigned by them, Kyle’s been quite weary of my relationship with Congress. He’s almost more tiresome and stubborn than Ian--though we knew that already. What surprises me is that he’s actually concerned and defensive towards me, like an older brother would be for their sister-in-law. No one, much less myself, could have ever predicted that this is how he’d consider me at any point in history. 

Before giving him an answer, I open the mail and then the pictures attached, which make me smile. 

“It’s OK,” I whisper, both to Kyle and to the phone, where Mel has remained silent, waiting for me to realize what it was: pictures of what soon enough will become our hometown. As a matter of fact, that's going to be our house. “You want to see this too, Ian,” I say, reaching a hand out for him. Carrying Nick, he comes closer and looks at the screen above my shoulder and smiles too when he understands what he's looking at. 

“Oh, wow,” he whispers, bending. That street, that supermarket, that gym. . . That’s going to be our new life when we leave. This is exactly what it feels like when Souls like me ponder traveling to other Planets. Although they benefit from certain advantages, thanks to our connections to Congress, that I never had, such as these same pictures of the new world they’re going to live in. On the other hand, it is true that I already know the Planet we're going to live next.

Behind me, Kyles leaves the kitchen--I’m not sure if he wants to give us space and intimacy to stare at those pictures or if he’s just angry and upset because of them. It is best for him not to hear our conversation, too. Sunny can handle it, or at least pretend that she’s more happy for us than she’s forlorn. 

“Look, Nick,” says Ian, letting our son stand on the isle for him to see the screen properly, “that’s where we’re going to live soon.” 

“All of that is snow?” he asks. “It’s going to be very cold, won’t it?” 

“Yes, but we’ll have very thick coats,” promises Ian, buttoning the top button on Nick’s T-shirt to prove his point. “And we’ll have a blast, you’ll see. We’ll go skiing and do all sorts of things.” 

“Oh, great!!” he chimes. Last time we tried going skiing he really had a long way to learn. Then again, so did I--even with Ian and Nicholas and Jared trying to teach us. 

While Ian encourages and gets Nick all riled up and excited about our upcoming trip to the Mists Planet, I step aside to wrap up the conversation with our sister. 

“Someone’s excited,” Mel points out. 

“Yeah, no doubt,” I chuckle. “What about you?” 

“Oh, Jared’s already got some improvements concerning our house, don’t you worry,” she says, nonchalant. “Which is as good a praise as any coming from him.” 

“Yeah, I guess. I reckon I should visit the McKennas this afternoon, shouldn’t I?” 

“Yes, that would be in order,” nods Mel. 

“So I won’t make it to the cinemas after all.” 

“Is that genuine sadness I’m hearing?” 

“It’ll be a pity to miss out on whatever classic movie you’d decided to watch,” I say--she can clearly distinguish the sarcasm in my voice now.

“You don’t have to gloat--it’s unbecoming.” 

“Excuse me?” I beg. 

“Of Souls,” she mends her words. “It’s just an intrinsic characteristic of humans.” 

“Haven’t I spent enough time around humans to be allowed to gloat now and then?” 

“Fine, gloat as much as you want,” scowls Mel--but when I do have permission to do so, I find myself unwilling and resistant to do it. I just shrug and chuckle softly and on the other end of the line, as if she’s seen me, Mel laughs too. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” I bid farewell. 

“Give the McKennas my best.” 

“Will do, thanks.” 

By half-past four I'm ringing the bell of the McKennas and Walter, the human patriarch of the family, answers me. He was going to hug me to welcome me into his home when a toddler, his 5-year-old Soul grandson, comes running to meet me and jumps into my arms. I'm simply too happy to receive him. 

“Faiyaz, be a bit more respectful, will you!” complains Walter, but I don't give a damn about the propriety or anything and at Walter's signal I step into the apartment, carrying Faiyaz with me. 

“How’re you doing? Enjoying the holidays?” 

“Yes! Tomorrow we’re going to the swimming pool!” 

“The one with the waves?” 

“Yes!”

“That one’s just so cool! I love it too. I almost want to go with you.” 

“Come with us!” begs the toddler, looking up at his grandfather for approval. 

“Can I come?”

“Yes! Mom, can Wanda come tomorrow, please?” asks Faiyaz when we meet her biological mother at the living room. Tainatë takes Faiyaz from my arms, addressing me with an apologetic smile, a window to get out of the plan if I needed to. 

“Well, I don’t have any problem with that, but maybe Wanda works tomorrow, honey.” 

“Only have a lecture in the morning,” I say. “Perhaps I could come by in the afternoon, with Nick and the others?” 

“That would be great, if you’re sure,” says Melatiah, Tainatë’s partner and also a Soul just like me, as we take our seats on thr living room. 

“Of course I am,” I promise. 

“Hey, listen, everybody! Tomorrow Wanderer’s coming to the swimming pool with us!” Jake announces. He’s human--his partner, Ayesha, isn’t. They’re parents to two children, Darla and Charlie, the latter a Soul just like his mother, the former a regular human. Upon hearing the announcement from their father, they come running from their bedroom and celebrate the announcement with yells of excitement. 

“Can we offer you something to drink?” says Walter, who hasn't sat down still. 

“You’ve got coffee made?” I ask, feeling a bit bad for bothering him with it all--and the reason why I chose that one beverage is because I see coffee cups all over the living room. 

“Coming right up,” nods Walter, leaving for the kitchen. Ayesha, after welcoming me with two kisses, follows him there. I stay on the couch only because Darla and Charlie have chosen my lap to sit on and I just cannot force them to leave. 

“How’s it going?” I ask the family in general. 

“Oh, great, really great,” promises Tainatë. “Really looking forward to the holidays.“

“We should sit down and prepare our next trip, perhaps,” suggests Melatiah. We're on a ratio of almost one trip per year, but we didn’t get around to prepare an excursion for summer, so we'll have to dive in for the winter hols. 

“Any suggestions?” 

“We still have some places to cross off the list,” promises Melatiah. 

“You said we’d go to Disneyland!!” yells Darla, shaking her father’s arm vigorously. I can't help but smile--if he had any say on the matter, Nick would defend that one destination too. 

“We’ll see, honey,” says Jake. 

“Perhaps the Tibet?” 

“In the midst of winter? We’ll freeze to death,” complains Melatiah. 

”Anyway, speaking of holidays, what’re Jared’s plans, dear Wanda?” asks Jake. 

“Going on a trip with Mel and his family,” I say, and he winces with incredulity. “Why? Did you have any ideas?”

“Please tell Jared I expect to set a date for another race.” 

“I can promise you I won’t,” I scowl. “Why must you insist on risking your life with those stunts? Life isn’t enough thrilling for you?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad. We’re not hanging between buildings at hundred feet high without ropes to hold on to.” 

“Both are considered extreme sports, let me tell you.”

“Yeah, well, we humans are still stupid sometimes,” Walter settles for all of us, returning carrying a tray with cups of coffee. We shift to make space for everyone, Darla and Faiyaz and Charlie settling on the carpeted floor, and take some minutes to add milk or sugar on our coffees. Chloe, Walter’s third child, still a human being from her birth, couldn’t make it home this afternoon--or maybe it’d be more accurate to say that she didn’t want to meet me and couldn’t be bothered to come. 

“Dad said you had some news for us?” asks Tainatë after a while. 

“Yes, Congress has sent me an email,” I nod, grabbing he briefcase with my computer. “May I?”

They all help in order to clear out the dining table so I can install the computer, turn it on and log in to my email. The whole process takes me less than a minute and I immediately show them the pictures Congress has sent. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. . . I present to you your future home.” 

Everyone gathers around the computer screen in fascinating awe. Just like Jamie, Mel, Jared, and Ian they've all participated in expeditions to the South Pole and have traveled up north to Finland, which resembles too much the villages I'm showing them, but still, it feels as if they were witnessing a whole new world--which they are. Their faces are just mirrors or what I looked like a couple of hours ago when I first saw the pictures and so I help them to let the reality sink in, introducing them to their street, their homes, their village. This is it--no turning back now.


	10. Early retirement

At my old age, Souls establish that I should only work three days a week, four days on alternative weeks, which anyways leave me more sabbatical time that I can spend. Of course, I'm expected to fulfill voluntary tasks every free day I've got, but still, this means every other day I can enjoy a big breakfast down at the dinner, like the ones we used to have once upon a time. 

“Here you go, Nicholas,” says the stewardess as she lays the eggs and bacon and fries on the table. "Enjoy." 

"Thank you," I say. 

“Would you like a refill?” she asks, pointing at the now empty coffee mug. 

“Yes, please, whenever you can.” 

“Be right back,” Natalie winks at me before and rests a hand on my shoulder. 

“You’re an angel.”

She truly is. She's extraordinarily amiable and helpful, always looking after the customers, even beyond her duties as the owner. And that's coming from a human who never had a Soul inserted. 

“Oh, sorry,” she apologizes by my side. 

I look up in case I had done something that warranted an apology from Natalie, but it wasn't me. The reason was another woman, standing a couple of feet from my table, almost in the middle of the aisle, completely transfixed. I turn to look over my booth and understand it all: she’s staring at the TV screen up there on the wall. Sound off, she’s reading the subtitles of another interview Wanda took with Ian and Jamie. It was two weeks ago, if I’m not mistaken, although it’s become difficult to keep track of all her social appearances. At least once every two months she’s invited over for a seminar or what else somewhere in the States, which is recorded--and sometimes shown streaming--for the whole world to see. 

Be as it may, seeing her up there brings a smile to my lips as well. Knowing what she's accomplished, knowing her personally and her being my daughter-in-law and the biological mother of my grandson. . . Well, a lot of miracles in that sentence. 

After reading a few of the statements I remember the basics of the interview and turn around again. The woman’s still there, staring at the screen, almost in awe. Her curly auburn hair falling down over her shoulders, she fidgets with her bags. Out of pure kindness, I refrain from laughing at her. 

“Fascinating, isn’t she?” I ask. 

My question seems to snap her out of her dazzlement and she looks around, a bit confused. I raise a hand to prove I’m the one who brought her back to the Earth and then nod at the screen. 

“Wanderer?” she asks. “Oh, yeah, she is. Absolutely. Without a doubt. She’s fascinating, extraordinary, awesome--” 

“Well, you’ve convinced me,” I chuckle to put a stop to all the compliments. The woman laughs softly, realizing she was almost lost on thought again. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, my dear,” I say. “Want to sit down?” 

Hiding her face behind her hair, she stares for a second or two the empty seat at my booth. I let her decide on her own while chewing on a fry and then, she takes the seat and introduces herself as Nicole. She takes a look over my shoulder at the screen, still interested in an interview she must have watched already. When Natalie comes back, Nicole asks for a cup of coffee too and I barge in to ask for her a full breakfast--I’d invite her if that was still a thing. 

“It’s just unbelievable, don’t you think?” Nicole says then, still more focused on the screen than me. “All that she’s done. . . All that she’s accomplished on behalf of humankind. . .” 

“Yes, pretty amazing,” I agree. “But don’t tell her directly, she doesn’t take compliments very well. She would probably say it was a collective effort, that without human’s willing to change and adapt none of it would have happened either way. . .” 

“Hold on. Have you met her?” demands Nicole, leaning forward with admiration in her eyes. 

“I’m--” 

Well, it’s nice to see my efforts to stay out of the public and keep my anonymity were worth it. I only appeared a couple of times on national TV and that was only because Wanda was asked to introduce her whole family--I was there along with Melanie, Jamie, Jared, Kyle, and Jeb. Apart from Ian and Nick, of course. 

Appreciating, for once, the anonymity, I don’t bother correcting Nicole. 

“Just once,” I lie. 

“And what did you think of her? Is she almost as incredible as she seems to be?” 

“More than,” I say truthfully this time. “There’s no one like her. All those interviews and articles don’t even scratch the surface.” 

“You’re so lucky,” whispers Nicole. 

“Hit the jackpot,” I agree. 

“Things have changed so much. . . It’s really difficult to keep track of the current technologies. Nowadays it’s even tough to remember why we ever thought Souls coming to the Earth was an Invasion at all.” 

Grabbing a fry and focusing on chewing it before swallowing allows me not to give her a rude answer that would put kind of an awkward end to the breakfast and would haunt us for the rest of the day. As dazzled as the woman is by all things related to Souls, she can’t have possibly forgotten all the deaths Souls caused with their coming here. I mean, I don’t hold grudges against any Soul for that, Goodness me, but there is a reason why it was called and is still considered an Invasion. The same reason why our dear Wanda can't just shake off the remorse that’s been eating her alive for years. 

“I mean, the other day I stumbled across this little piece of tech,” Nicoles keeps talking, unaware of my thoughts, pointing at her wrist, “a whole damn computer on a bracelet. I know things like this had just started to be created before Souls got here, but they’ve improved it all so much…! Just pushing a couple of buttons, a hologram keyboard and screen appears and you can literally use it as a computer.”

She keeps talking on and on and on about all the improvements Souls brought with them, mainly technological advances, on medicine, transport and communication fields. I listen to her intently, sometimes chewing on my fries, rarely putting in a word--she doesn’t need, or expect, any input from my part. It’s just nice to hear her talk, to see first-hand how a human not only moved on from the intrinsic fear and hatred towards Souls, but has come to love them for who they are and what we can accomplish together. 

Some part of me wishes Wanda could meet her and listen to her--Nicole would certainly be thrilled to chat with Wanda, perhaps after fainting upon meeting her--although, on second thought, Wanda probably wouldn’t survive the embarrassment of all of Nicole’s attention and praise. 

At some point we finish breakfast--Nicole stopped now and then to catch her breath and eat a bit--and Natalie comes around to clear our table. She winks at me as she leaves and I blush slightly, waving goodbye at her. She has never seen me sitting and talking to another woman and more than often has wondered if I would be against meeting someone to fill my days. Guess she’ll have a lot to talk about these next few days. 

“Are you working today?” I ask suddenly. 

“Wouldn’t have spent two hours for breakfast if I did, don’t you think?” she says. 

“Perfect,” I approve. “Then come with me.”

I take her hand and scoop her out of the booth, to her dismay and surprise, her yelps making some customers-and some workers such as Natalie--turn in shock and fear. I drag Nicole out of the café and raise my arm to stop a passerby taxi and give the driver, a human Soul, the address: the Planetarium. 

Perhaps very few other destinations might have surprised Nicole as much as the Planetarium does shock her. With a smug smile, I just rest on the seat and don’t say a word. She accepts my keeping it a secret and follows my suit, sinking on the seat. This time, the mystery seems to take away her voice, for she keeps quiet throughout the trip, and even grants me the gentleman gesture of opening the car door for her and helping her out.

The place is crowded with school trips, families and tourists, so I beg Nicole to excuse me for a second and go to the front desk. I don’t like it, but it’s the first time--and last, I swear--that I’ll ever use Wanda’s name for personal benefit. As soon as I mention her I’m given two tickets and a VIP pass. Nicole’s dazzled by my success, but I don’t give her time to ask any questions before I dazzle her with all my knowledge about the Galaxy and all the Planets out there, even giving her little tidbits that are not mentioned on the guides--another thing to thank Wanda for. Up to this moment, I hadn’t realized I knew so many things about systems and Planets I’ll never set foot on, but yet know strangely well. Wanda’s informal lectures did pay off. 

We then take a couple of modified solar eclipse glasses and go to the terrace with them at hand. What with Souls technology we can enhance our glasses’ vision to unimaginable ends and we get to see tiny little details of the moon, some stars, and some Earth-orbiting satellites. 

Afterwards, I take her to one of the dark rooms with a few dozens of telescopes. I choose one in a corner where we’ll have some pretense of intimacy, adjust the searching parameters, take a brief glimpse and then let Nicole take a look. She gasps in awe, turns as if to say something, but thinks better of it and bends again to watch Mars and even Venus through the telescope--although I do need to tell her what she’s seeing exactly. At the end of the day, as much as she marvels at the advances Souls offered us, mere mortal humans, she’d never thought of witnessing them first-hand. 

I’m glad I could offer her this experience. 

Finished the tour I invite her--just a polite and archaic way to say it--to coffee and ice cream at the terrace, with the park at our feet. Nicole, a smile permanently glued to her lips, just can't stop staring at the clear, blue sky. She seems more in awe with Souls than before, if that’s possible. 

“Where did you learn all that?” she asks. 

“Oh, you know. Here and there.” Not trying to get credit where it’s due--I just don’t want to put Wanda in an uncomfortable situation without prior knowledge. I will come clean eventually, if necessary. 

“You’re being modest.” 

“Perhaps,” I grant. 

“After seeing all that. . . I think I want to travel to space, now,” says Nicole after a minute of consideration, making me choke on my drink. 

“That’s not exactly what I was planning with my taking you there,” I confess, taking a tissue to clean my mouth and attempt to wipe my trousers. I don’t know what I had in mind when I took her out of that diner, exactly, but sending her away was not it. “I’m glad you liked it, though.” 

“I did. I can’t believe I hadn’t taken the time to visit the Planetarium earlier. But, with all that you know. . . Don’t you want to leave?” 

“No, thank you very much.” 

“You’re staying here on Earth, then?” 

“Till the day I die,” I confirm, raising the coffee mug as in a toast for my sentence. 

“But, why? Why should the Earth be our tombstone, when there are so many possibilities out there? Aren’t you dying of curiosity to know what’s out there, waiting to be discovered?” 

“No, that’s not me, I’m afraid,” I reply. “I’m just looking for a quiet and peaceful life.” 

Remembering so many conversations--arguments really--with Wanda and that lot, I was beginning to fear that this would also turn out to be an ever-ending discussion, but against all odds, Nicole just smiles politely and checks her watch. 

“Yes, I believe I agree. D’you think they'd invent a world where no one had to work?” 

“Afraid that’d be against their teachings,” I chuckle, because I understand the conundrum here. “Do you need a ride?” 

“No, thank you,” she says, standing. I stand too and we let some seconds fly, on opposite sides of the table, looking straight into each other's eyes. “But. . . One of these days of your stressful and unpeaceful life, would you mind if I saw you again?” 

“I’d love to,” I say, without the hint of falsehood in my voice. “Would you like to write down my number?” 

“Yes, please,” she says. She takes her cellphone from her bag and hands it to me--I wouldn't ask for her number if she didn’t give it to me straight. That’s just how social conventions of courtesy work these days. 

“Thank you,” we say at the same time afterwards. 

“I really need to go now,” Nicole bids goodbye, regret clear in her voice, as she doesn’t move from her spot. I smile at her. 

“Don’t worry, you’ve got my number. I’ll see you again very soon, I hope.”

She laughs again with that laughter of hers that I’ve come to enjoy so much the past few hours and, promising to call soon, she leaves the cafeteria. Leaning over the veranda of the terrace I watch her run to stop a passerby taxi. My heart foes skip a beat when she turns around, looks for me with pure anxiety and smiles when she discovers me, waving goodbye once more. Oh, dear Lord, I could be in very big trouble.


	11. Swamped

`For as long as we’ve been trapped here, Grey’s appearance is somehow a continual surprise. He looks as young as the day he earned a position in the elite Royal Guard, his dark hair slightly unkempt, his face unlined... `

Halfway through the last line, I look up, expecting to see Nick asleep already, because quite honestly I’m looking forward to going to bed as well, but then I catch Nick pinching himself, hard, on his arm, so brutally that his eyes are a bit teary. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” I demand softly, grabbing his arm, the book falling from my lap. I then discover a whole lot of small injuries on his arm, that he’s caused himself, scratching his arm with his nails. How have I missed this? He’s been doing this for a while now, it usually doesn’t take him so long to be dead cold. 

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” he complains. 

“But you need to,” I remind him softly, pushing both his arms on the bed to stop him from further injuring himself. “Tomorrow you're going to be very tired if you don’t. You’ve got to wake up early for school, buddy. ” 

“I don’t care! _I want Mom!”_ he complains, kicking the mattress with his free feet, shaking off my hands, and then pushing the bed covers away. Forgetting all about the book, which has fallen from my lap to the floor, I grab Nick’s arms and sit on his side by the bed to stop all this ruckus. 

“Buddy, Mom did give you a goodnight kiss.” 

“I--” 

“We’ve talked about this. Your mother isn’t going to vanish overnight, I promise. In the morning she’ll be right here, making you breakfast, and so she will be the next day, and the day after that. Don’t you believe me?” I explain softly and slowly. 

“I won’t go to sleep till I see her!” he demands. 

“Hey, what is this fuss all about? It’s past your bedtime, honey,” asks Wanda’s soft, yet tired, voice from the door, freezing us both. Leaning on the threshold, she doesn’t quite step into the room, a warm smile on her lips. I retreat to my seat--letting Nick do all the guilt-trapping schemes on his own. 

“You didn’t come to kiss me goodnight,” he says. His skills at playing and manipulating his mother, and sometimes myself, do impress me now and then. “You promised.” 

Wanda now does step into the room, addressing me a look over the shoulder. I just shrug silently and then she sits on the bed. She waves for Nick to move to one side of the bed, giving her space to lie down, hugging him by the shoulders and letting Nick rest on her chest. I retreat to my seat, but lean forward to prove I’m part of the discussion, and the family, too. 

“I know I did, sweetheart,” she says, caring and loving voice. “I just have a lot of work and kinda forgot what time it was, that’s all.” 

The explanation doesn’t soothe Nick, who hugs his mother ever so tighter. That gesture makes Wanda and I laugh softly. I give Wanda the book and she opens it on a random page--no one was truly paying that much attention to the story earlier--and leans so the lamplight sheds some light on the pages. 

“Let’s see. . .” 

She starts reading, and her way of telling the story is much interesting and funnier than I usually do it, by making all sorts of accents and faces. She’s got Nick laughing out loud within seconds, and I join in now and then as well.

Then again, in a matter of minutes--less than a page later--he’s sound asleep. I take the book and switch off the light while Wanda disentangles herself from Nick without waking him up. The poor lad, he was left traumatized that one time Wanda tried to flee without telling anyone, not even us, her family. She did promise she’d always be there to bid him goodnight and greet him a good day, and it seems Nick cannot deal with her not doing so. 

I can’t help but feel this is getting out of hand a little, it’s been years since Wanda’s attempt at abandoning us, after all. Sometimes I wonder if we should ask a psychologist for help, but. . . At least now we know she’ll never try a stunt like that ever again. Selfish, I know, and I shouldn’t use our son as a guarantee for Wanda staying behind until the agreed time expires. Still, if it works. . .

Back at the living room, I throw the book over the sofas and turn, expecting Wanda by my side, ready to turn in for the night, but instead, I see her sitting back down at the lunch table, which is currently occupied with dozens of folders, notebooks, and papers. I frown, just a little worried. She was swarmed in work until a few minutes ago--that’s why she nearly forgot her promise to Nick--but I thought she’d finished with it all. She’s usually not as stressed as she is today, even at the end of the academic year. 

“Come to bed,” I coax her, standing in the middle of the room. 

“I need to grade some more papers or I’ll never meet the deadline,” she replies in a big yawn, rubbing her tired and red eyes. 

“Half an hour,” I say, checking the time. She smiles weakly and I know she’s just humoring me by nodding--she’ll stay here for as long as she wishes to. In order to show her that I understand, I go around the table, squeeze her aching shoulders and kiss her hair. “Don’t be up too late,” I change my petition. 

“That, I promise,” she nods. 

She tilts her head, demanding a proper kiss on the lips from me. I oblige, but cut the kiss way too short, just to show her what she’s missing on our bed. The proposal makes her laugh as I make my way to the bedroom, trying not to look back at her or else I’ll just drag her over there right now. 

Albeit I’d promised myself I’d wait for her, I’m dead cold within minutes--should have started pinching my arm or something as well--and so I’ve got no means of checking what time does Wanda truly come to bed. I stir lazily when she pulls on the sheets and carefully climbs by my side, and all I can do is turn on my back and snuggle against her naked body, barely conscious, and pray for a full night’s sleep. 

Per usual, I wake up with a murderous intent thanks to the beautiful melody of an alarm clock. Takes me ten full seconds to roll over and stretch my arm--but the alarm stops before I get nowhere near the clock. The weight of Wanda’s body disappears from my side and the bed shifts with her leaving. I open one eye, expecting the beam of sunlight hitting my face, but it’s early still, the sun’s not that high up yet. Still, Wanda’s picking up her clothes. It’s early even for her to get ready. 

I lean on my elbows, scowling tiredly, craning my neck. At my waking up, Wanda drops the pretense of attempting to leave without my noticing. 

“What are you doing?” I ask sleepily. 

“Wanted to do some work before Nick wakes up,” she whispers. 

“_More work?_ Wanda, this is getting out of hand,” I scowl, pushing the blankets away. She sits on my lap, preventing me to stand, and grabs my chin to plant a kiss against my lips. With that, she pushes me back, gently, until I’m fully lying down on the bed--which was her initial intention after all. 

“It’s OK, I can handle it--won’t take much longer now. You go back to sleep for an hour.” 

And, giving me one more kiss, as if to ensure I stay put on the bed, she jumps out and leaves. I stare at the half-open door she’s exited through for a few seconds more, pondering. Common sense tells me to follow her and convince her to go back to bed with me, or maybe to join her and prepare breakfast for us both. Instead, the promise of one hour more of sleep, in the end, convinces me to roll over. 

When my alarm clock rings at the appropriate hour, I jump out of bed immediately. I’ve barely gotten any more sleep and don’t want Wanda to start regarding me as a lazy stupid human, so I just shower, make the bed, change clothes, and go straight to prepare breakfast. I come out to the living room with two steaming cups of coffee to see the exact same picture I saw last night: Wanda’s head hidden in all her papers, scribbling down notes now and then, completely focused on her work. She doesn’t even notice me there until I literally sit in front of her and lay one of the coffee mugs on the table, by her hand. 

Surprised by the warm touch, she looks up and addresses me one tired smile. There’re bags under her eyes and she’s clearly in desperate need of two more coffee cups and possibly a shower--as soon as possible. She declines the second suggestion, just as I knew she would, and stays there working as I take care of Nick, drag him out of bed to kiss his mother hello, then have some breakfast, have a shower, and get dressed. I’m so preoccupied with Wanda that I do not see her until it’s almost too late. 

“Hey, where are you going?” I demand when I see her collecting all her papers, her College bag hanging from her shoulders, ready to go with a beautiful white blouse, dark jacket, and skirt. 

“Where does it look like?” she replies without looking up. 

“You’re _not_ thinking about going to College today?” 

“Why not, Ian?” she demands. For once, she stops from her frantic work and looks up at me--glares at me, actually. I used to get these kinds of looks from Mel, occasionally from Jared and Jaime too, not from Wanda. 

“Come on, you’re not serious,” I complain. I was supposed to be looking after Nick and making sure he’s got his backpack prepared for school today, but right now Wanda’s the priority for me. “You’re in no condition to--” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shrieks. 

Startled, I stutter for some seconds, squinting at her as if the Wanda in front of me wasn’t the woman I’m deeply and madly in love with. I know what’s happening, sadly--exhaustion has to come out of her system somehow, and I’m the perfect target, giving her lip, trying to get her to do exactly the opposite of what she wants and truly needs to do. I sigh deeply, stepping by the other side of the dining table, and take my cell phone. 

“Nick?” I call out. “Are you ready?” 

“Almost!” he promises. 

While we hear him hurrying in his bedroom, I don’t move from my spot and Wanda doesn’t either, assessing each other’s strengths and weaknesses in the first beats of a boxing fight, unsure of what my next step is going to be. Two seconds later, Nick comes running, his shirt outside the trousers, the backpack hanging from one shoulder. Upon stepping into the living room, however, he freezes in no-man land between Wanda and me, and looks up at me and his mother. Children aren’t stupid--he can tell something’s up here. And he doesn’t like it. 

“Do me a favor, buddy,” I say, briefly looking away from Wanda. “Ring the Wilsons up ahead. You’re going to school with them today.” 

“Isn’t Mom taking me?” he asks, turning to stare at his mother with confusion. 

“No, she isn’t,” I answer for her before she opens her mouth. “Go now, buddy, before they leave.” 

“Okay. . .” Nick says slowly--perhaps he can tell I’m just trying to get him out of the scene, but on some level, he does want to get to school. 

Alternatively looking at me and Wanda over his shoulder, Nick crosses the living room, opens the front door, crosses the hallway and rings the bell of the door right in front of ours. Cynthia, their Soul daughter, attends the same school than him--more than once, due to incompatible work schedules, we’ve taken each other’s children to school. 

“Good morning, Nick!” greets Marie, Cynthia’s mother. 

“My father says I need to go with you to school today,” says Nick, right off the bat. 

Upon that sullen explanation, I clear my throat and step under the threshold of our house, while also preventing Wanda from getting away. Marie greets me with a warm smile and frowned eyebrows. Every time we need a favor like this one, we warn the other party in advance. I’m not worried, though--however short notice, I know she will do this favor for us. 

“Of course you can come with us, honey,” she says, addressing Nick but instead looking at me. “But, is everything alright, Ian?” 

“Will be,” I nod, forcing out a smile, “if you could take Nick to school this morning. I’ll pick them up in the afternoon in exchange.” 

“That’s not really necessary, we’ll be delighted to go with Nick,” says the woman, before calling out Cynthia with a yell and informing her that Nick’s joining them on the ride to school. “Well, won’t you say goodbye to your father?” 

“Bye, Dad. See you later, I guess,” says Nick, flat and emotionless voice that only confuses Marie even more, but does not dare to raise any questions. He doesn’t even take five steps to come and kiss me--I will have to apologize for our behavior when I see him again, I’m afraid. 

“Have fun today. Again, Marie, thank you so much--you’re a life-saver.” 

“Wouldn’t say that much,” she dismisses. Cynthia comes to the door, all packed and ready to go as well, and greets Nick and I warmly, unaware of the strange circumstances surrounding the O’Shea family today. As the two kids disappear into the apartment, Marie steps closer and lowers her voice, trying to read whatever’s going on in my face. “If there’s anything else I can do. . .” 

“You’ve done plenty,” I assure her. “Thank you again. I’ll see you later.” 

With that, I close the door, perhaps in a gesture so fast and so rude that, to a Soul or human alike, could qualify as ‘slamming the door’ to poor Marie’s face. As I turn, I find out that Wanda’s not moved from her spot, she’s still carrying her bag and papers, ready to leave. Exhaustion and exasperation in her eyes. 

“Ian, what is it? I’m going to be late,” she demands, checking the clock, tapping the floor with her foot. 

“No, you’re not. You’re going to take a day off.” 

“Am not,” she scoffs, disbelief in her voice. “I have _never_\--” 

“That’s exactly why you’re taking one today,” I interject her. 

She gasps, ponders what she can say to convince me, and then decides that action is better than arguments. She makes a dash for the door--a response I was prepared for and I stop her miles away from the entrance, stepping between her and the door. Having me in front of the target, Wanda freezes, knowing she will never win this battle. Once she’s asserted that, I raise my cell phone again. 

“Call the Dean. Now,” I order her. 

“Ian, don’t be absurd.” 

“Just look at you, Wanda--you’re a wreck! I still love you very much, though,” I try to amend after the pure shock and contempt in Wanda’s reaction. “But you’ve been working non-stop for too many days now. I don’t care what you say, you cannot, absolutely cannot keep this up. You need to rest, to really rest--and skip College for one day.” 

“I can’t!” 

“Yes, you can--and you will,” I promise her. “Because if you don’t call the Dean right now and explain, in front of me, that you’re not going to make it to your lectures today, I will make a phone call to Mel. We’re going to take you to the nearest Healing Center and have you hospitalized and sedated to make sure you get some proper rest. Remember, Healers only need two consenting adults to make a vital decision for someone who’s incapacitated.” 

Shocked, gasping, Wanda looks about ready to slap me across the face. I stand my ground, my cell phone raised, the proposal clear: through the means of one phone call or another, she’s not doing any lectures today and is, instead, taking a well-deserved day off to catch up on sleep and rest. She can either do it here at home on the couch, where I’ll be monitoring her, or else she can pick the Healing Center, where it’s going to be a bunch of doctors pestering her every five minutes. Plus all the patients and visitors who’ll come by her room once rumor spreads that she’s there--and so it’ll be a matter of time before word gets out and perhaps reaches the media. Which also means, Jeb and the rest of our family will end up hearing about her being admitted to a Healing Center. That translates into more concerned family members, dropping all of their duties to visit and take care of Wanda, and very possibly, also death threats addressed to me and my inability of looking after Wanda properly. 

All of that runs through her mind in a matter of seconds and in the end, she takes the cell phone, not without sending me a hatred look, which I don’t take seriously, because she knows that I’m doing all of this out of concern and love. I knew from the beginning what she would pick--and I’m looking forward to a very lazy day on the couch with Wanda. 

She dials a number and awaits, all while glaring at me. Her stare barely causes an effect on me--I’ve known worse. And before she can pursue any threats, someone picks on the other side and she’s forced to speak with her usual decorum and propriety. 

“Hello, Gwen? This is Wanda. Yeah, sorry to call so early. Is the Dean in already?” 

I nod in approval while she gets put through, and step forward to take Wanda’s bags and her folders and papers to grade. She gives in, surrendering her papers and notebooks--already accepted defeat. I lay it all on the table, then make her turn around to take her jacket off, one arm at a time, and then she takes her high heels off on her own. When she turns around again, already speaking to the Dean, to follow me towards the comfort of our couch, she’s got the briefest smile on her lips. I do too.


	12. Aillte an Mhothair

“Off you go, buddy,” I say, my voice weak with strain, as I take Nick off my shoulders and leave him on the ground. Albeit he’s still a toddler, his weight was too much for my poor back. Sometimes I wish I had the endurance I once enjoyed back in Mel’s body. Even with Ian telling me constantly that he adores the body I now inhabit, because the petite figure matches so much who I am, sometimes it gets annoying and a little bit of a burden. I can’t offer my own son the same things as Ian or Mel could. 

Today’s a perfect example. Tired as he is, I cannot carry him for hours on end as Ian or Mel, or anyone else, could. Especially when we’re climbing up a forsaken mountain that should be advised against toddlers--or Souls without the forsaken habit of trekking. My breathing is mostly all we can hear, apart from our steps on the rocky and gravy ground, and on occasions my breathing has scared a random bird, who flew away from our position before we had the chance to admire its beauty. 

My slow rhythm and the fact that I can’t truly keep up with the members of my family are the reason why, once more, I’ve fallen behind and I’m walking--or gasping--at the back of the entourage, with the children of all our group, the oldest a ten-year-old named Kevin. I’m so out of shape that my struggles pale in comparison to these kids. 

Me and all five Souls in the group, that is--Sunny, Tainatë, Faiyaz, and Chloe. We’re missing important tidbits of the place from the guide, also a Soul, incidentally. Oh, well. I’m certain we can find anything we want by ourselves anyway, even though explanations by locals are always more interesting to hear first-hand. I just can’t keep up. Why did I volunteer in the first place? Can somebody remind me? 

“Hey, kiddo, how’re we doing?” Mel, who’s been waiting for us standing in the middle of the track, unbearably cheerful, asks Nick as she demands a high-five from the kid. But who is she kidding apart from the children: we all know she’s stayed behind to check on me. And to prove my suspicions, she then turns and addresses me the same question. 

“Oh, I’m doing great, can’t you see?” I ask, my voice breaking. Mel just bursts out laughing and joins our small and slow entourage, patting me on the back for encouragement. She does manage to keep us distracted from the climb and does not complain once regarding our extremely slow rhythm, which is a first coming from her. She does actually cheer us on all the way up, and even takes Nick, Mark, and Lizzie on her shoulders one at a time. 

In the end, we somehow make it to the top. Judging by our family’s faces we’re at least half an hour late, but they couldn’t care less--they’re absolutely enthralled by the tales of our guide and, most especially, by the view. 

It is something remarkable, I must confess. I'm utterly speechless and not just for the climb. I gawk around in awe, leaning on Mel, barely believing my eyes. I may have taught Human Studies and may have fallen in love with the Earth a long time ago, but as it turns out, this Planet still has a lot to offer and discover by humans and Souls alike. 

The shivers don’t really belong to the cold we’re suffering even in September up here in Ireland. The giant’s causeway is an amazing scenery and appropriately named World Heritage before we Souls came here. Today we’ve chosen the Red Trail from our hotel, an amazing clifftop walk with spectacular views. I cannot help but agree, the climb was certainly worth it, the views are magnificent and breathtaking. 

Unfortunately, it’s not over yet, since my family wanted to spend a whole week up here, to walk and experience the six most famous trails of the place. I try to push those thoughts away as I stare at the ocean a hundred feet below me, extending as far as I can see, almost as if we were at the end of the world and there was no more land ahead of us, only miles and miles of sea. It is somehow appropriate that, one thousand and seven hundred miles south, there’s this Cape in Galicia, Spain, was named “Finisterre”--literally, ‘the end of the land’--as the peninsula drifted off to the sea. For Romans, it must have felt like the end of the earth, indeed. Even if we now know that Cabo da Roca, in Portugal, is more than 10 miles further west and thus, constitutes the westernmost point of continental Europe. 

“This place still holds a few surprises up its sleeves, doesn’t it?” asks Mel upon seeing my face. 

“Just wait until we visit Machu Picho,” dares Jared. 

“Oh, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” scowls Walker, shaking his head, standing between his wife, Mary, and one of his sons, Tainatë, a Soul. “You still have to see the Canola Mountains in China.” 

“Maybe,” I grant as I slowly get my voice back. “But, for now, let’s just admire this view under our feet, shall we?” 

The sea crashing against the rocks hundreds of feet below us, the strong wind that makes my hair and jacket willow all around me. Ian is holding me by the shoulders and we have a strong hold on each of Nick’s hands, just in case, for a fall from these heights would definitely be fatal. 

One touch of nature and the whole world is kin, was said a long time ago by William Shakespeare, and I cannot but agree right now. Standing in line with our mouths open, two whole families, a couple dozen people. From the moment we knew about each other we’ve been in touch and spent a lot of time together--even though in a few years we'll grow tired of each other. But that’s exactly the reason for our spending so much time together in order to get to know each other and becoming good friends. We better be at the very least amiable with each other when we leave, for we’re going to spend a lot of time together in the future. 

The best views come after the hardest of climbs, I totally concur, I sigh deeply, dropping my backpack onto the ground. Ian knows exhausted I am--beyond exhaustion, actually--and kisses my hair to soothe me, maybe trying to distract me from the fact that there’s still the way back to the hotel after lunch. 

“You know I don’t agree with all you believe about Heaven and life after death,” I say after a very long time, and our little family approaches us, in case, funnily enough, that I am up to some theological debate, “but I could believe that there is a heaven of sorts here on Earth, right under our feet.” 

At that, Ian chuckles. He’d probably call pretentious my attempt at twisting the Holy Bible’s words and making my own versions of Heaven and Hell, ones that I could believe in and find all around me, but instead, he just kisses my hair again. We are not having any sorts of debates, not right now, at the very least. 

As some of our members start to fall back, drop on the ground, and get their lunches, I let Ian take care of Nick, and instead, I meet Jamie. He’s already taller than I am and I lean on him, crossing my arms around his shoulders--he’s still as amazed by the landscapes as I am. Machu Pichu, Niagara Falls, the Great Wall of China, the Sahara desert. . . There’s so much yet to see that we’re never going to be able to observe, not even with ten of my Soul lives. 

He seems to read my trail of thoughts. “We won’t see most of this Planet, will we? There isn’t time to see under each rock, beneath the water, nor the secrets of ash, air, and soil, is there?” 

Although I know for a fact that he’s right, I bump gently into him, because the thought does bring an exasperated smile on my lips. 

“Can’t you feel the joy behind that limitation?” 

“Joy?” he shrieks, tilting his head to look at me in the eye. 

“That there are always things to discover, a new way to grow,” I explain. “That’s one of the most beautiful and sweetest parts of existing, and it’s free, and inexhaustible, and maddening.” 

Letting out a chuckle, he agrees with that last adjective I used. I wrap my hands around his neck again, resting my cheek against his. He smiles in return, grabbing my hand. At least he hasn’t yet reached the teenage age where he’ll hate all of us--he still welcomes open gestures of affection. 

But my words do manage that effect either way. 

“Why would you want to give this up?” I ask in a whisper. He scowls and pushes me away, his good humor gone now. 

“That was completely uncalled for and way below the belt,” he complains. I don’t argue, because he is right, and, for a Soul, I was playing dirty. Trying to guilt trap him, I believe it’s called. 

“I was just--” 

“Yes, I know what you were doing,” he snaps. “And I beg of you, please stop it. This here--all your family being here--is us accepting your decision. Why can’t you accept mine?”

I look around to our family, some feet away, sharing drinks and food, all of them oblivious to our little argument. In spite of his anger, Jamie’s kept his voice low, thank Goodness, although the wind willowing does help to send our voices and words far, far away, for only the sea to hear them. I don’t think anyone would have forgiven us for discussing this subject yet again. It’s the never-ending conversation with our family, as it turns out. 

“Jamie, please understand. I cannot let you--” 

“This is not a matter of what you will or won’t let me do,” he scowls. “I’m capable of doing my own decisions, as of a few years ago already. You just need to understand that.” 

“Albeit I wish you were, I know you’re not my little brother anymore. I get that. What I don’t understand is how can you give up your family--” 

“That’s the thing you seem to be missing here, Wanda. I’m not giving up on my family. In fact, I’m choosing family,” his last words barely a whisper, he grabs my hand, proving he’s not as angry as I’d feared, and gives it a gentle squeeze. I blush at his intense stare and his words. Why am I fighting this so hard? 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, albeit he does need to read my lips to understand me. 

He shakes his head to prove no apology was necessary. “Come on,” he says, waving over to the spot our family’s waiting for us, unaware of what’s just happened. Jamie does not mention it whatsoever, and we can enjoy a good meal.


	13. If train A...

“Come on, let’s try this one more time,” I suggest. 

“No, Mom, it’s OK--” Nick tries to stop me, but it's too late: I’ve already grabbed a piece of paper and the book again. The poor soul, he’s trying to help me not to lose my patience--and he’s not succeeding any more that I am in trying to help him with his homework. “I can wait for Dad.” 

“No, no, just once,” I beg, desperate. Poor Nick can’t stop me and just drops his head, knowing as well as I do the results of this test. 

Goddamnit. It is infuriating and exasperating. I’ve survived an adventure through the desert that should have been the end of me, the abuse at the hands of dozens of humans, a couple of emergency extractions and insertions, Martin nearly killing me off not once but twice. . . I’ve survived all that and still I’m unable to solve a freaking math problem for my son. 

It’s plain stupid! We’ve got the distance between the two towns, the average speed of each train and the exact time of departure of each one of those forsaken trains. Then why can't I figure out where and when will they meet? Is this really where I have to draw the line? 

In the end, Nick takes pity on me saying that he'll just look into it again later with his father. I must surrender to the evidence and accept defeat--I am not able to help my son with his homework anymore. Ian just makes it seem so easy. Perhaps because he too suffered this whole ordeal back when he was a boy and his brain kept something good out of that period of time. Nick thanks my time and effort as I stand and grab my computer to do something useful for the rest of the afternoon, such as prepare my forthcoming lectures. 

Right now I’m working on decolonization as a historical moment and process, which took place in the short time span of roughly three postwar decades, between 1945 and 1975. It is, as some writers described it, one of the most dramatic processes in what was known as ‘current’ history before we Souls came to Earth. The disappearance of the empire as a political form. The progression to a world of nation-states. The freeing of countries, sometimes peacefully, sometimes brought by violent revolutions, which European countries, after World War II, could simply not afford to suppress due to lack of wealth and political support. 

A part of me, and deep down I think I might be right on this instance, believes that the reason why so many people find this particular subject so intriguing and fascinating is that they--humans--read into that time a parallelism of us Souls also leaving the Hosts we once occupied and to us leaving the Earth, but. . . Oh, well. I’m going to talk about it in one lecture at some point. Was it Ezer Weizman or rather Ehud Barak who said history never repeats itself in the same way? 

Later in the afternoon, Nick makes a huge mistake. By trying to help, he shatters all my efforts and attempts at forgetting my little tantrum earlier. I prepare, write and record all these lessons for College here at the Mists Planet, but also I send them back to Earth. There are so many other historians and teachers way more qualified than I to teach the Earth’s history, but somehow I’m still requested, once every month, to send in my particular view on some subjects. It’s just a little bit more workload now and then, and I’m happy to oblige, if people are truly interested. 

But, as if I needed any further embarrassment today, Nick comes and sits on the chair by my side to help me out in my studies, the computer and recorder prepared. I usually ask for help to record my lectures so I can focus on the subject at hand and not the camera, true, but right now I do not need this. He quickly realizes, even though I daren't say the words out loud, that I neither need nor want his company here right now and he hides his astonishment in a coughing fit. 

“I’ll prepare dinner,” he says. He literally jumps off the chair and vanishes over to the kitchen. He does not come out again. 

Ian’s return from work does help both our moods. Giving up on work altogether I resume dinner just where Nick left it, in order to give father and son some privacy as Ian helps Nick out with his homework. They've finished soon after and as Nick picks up his school things, Ian meets me back in the kitchen. He instantly notices my state of humor and also the reasons behind it. 

“Should I explain it all to you too?” he suggests, kind voice. 

“Don’t bother, for I won’t understand any of it.” 

“And that’s bad?” 

“Kinda, yeah!!” I explode. “What with me teaching Human Studies--” 

“Wanda, no one, not even Nick, expects you to know every little detail about everything,” he interjects, stepping into her personal space to hug her. “Even if we mock you dearly for it, we know you’re unable to study everything there is to know about human culture and folklore. Even you have limitations when it comes to quantum physics and engineering.” 

“But that is my point! I’m not good at much, but there was one thing I’m supposed to know about. And now it turns out I know just about much as a sixth-grade student!” 

“Well, at least that’s better than a fifth-grade math level student,” Ian points out, but he can tell it was the wrong remark to make. He immediately apologizes. “Wanda, you know more about human culture than anyone I’ve ever met--and you don’t even belong to our species per se. Isn’t that enough? No person could ever hold the knowledge of everything, that’s just impossible. You’d need eight whole lives to learn everything about us and then you’d have to study eight more lives to catch up on everything you'd missed out. Math doesn’t work out.” 

“Don’t,” I forbid him, cold tone, and he chuckles--he fully knew what that pun would do for my humor now. 

Surrendering, he just leans against the countertop, but he’s physically unable to erase the smile on his lips. I sigh too, dropping the spoon and resting my hands on my waist. 

“You’re saying I should just yield.” 

“I’m saying your knowledge has always been good enough for you and your lectures and certainly good enough for your family,” Ian replies in a whisper, stepping closer. I’m out of breath because of his proximity, the way his hands rest on my waist and travel down my body, how he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Our son doesn’t think less highly of you just because you couldn’t help him with a freaking math problem.” 

“Exactly,” nods Nick, appearing out of nowhere, and I push Ian away, making the man chuckle under his breath again. “Mom, I couldn’t be prouder of you and you know it. But I will never forgive you two if we don’t have dinner soon.” 

“Fine,” I snap. “Then help out, young man.” 

He doesn't need to be told twice and he picks up the cutlery to take it all back to the dining table--but before he leaves he does blow me a kiss. I don't understand why this has affected me so much. A Soul should not gloat or think herself higher than others just because she knows more about a specific area of expertise. Then again, I am not and never have been your ‘average’ Soul and have spent enough time living with humans to understand, incorporate and show feelings and emotions that once were thought to be intrinsically human.


	14. Baseball Game

We walk into the field in small groups, talking excitedly about other things than the game--and in my case, it’s not enough to calm my nerves or distract me. I know baseball is one of the humans' favorite pastimes and I kind of understand that, but what I'm unable to comprehend is why oh why would my family also force me to play. I’d still have a field day staying by the benches and watching them play and have fun without me spoiling the game. 

In spite of my protestations, before I know it I'm standing right at the home plate with a too heavy a bat in my hands as Ian straps a helmet on my head. 

“I really don’t think. . .” 

“You’re going to be fine,” he promises. I cock an eyebrow--I don’t need to remind him of the many, many fouls and accidents I’ve committed and caused in our family games. One time, as a matter of fact, I hit myself with the bat trying to hit the damn ball. The embarrassment was hard to recover from. And it's a hell of a lot worse when it's not only my whole goddamn family present but also curious bystanders watching.

“Why can’t I just stay there with the spectators?”

“Indulge me,” begs Ian. “Ready?”

Uncertain, I raise the bat behind my head. He steps away for good measure and nods at Jared. Even I can tell that he’s taking it easy on me--and still, I need to thank that blessed rule of ‘three strikes and you're out’ so my clumsiness and ridicule only have a limited amount of time and chances. 

“Next time,” promises Andy, taking the bat from my hands with an apologetic smile. 

“Yeah, sure,” I nod. Unless I’m touched by God’s grace I won’t ever hit the ball. And when it’s turn for our team to defend, I won’t be able to catch a single ball, for my instinct is to close my eyes and shield away from the projectile, or neither throw it to someone else accurately. I just take the cold apple juice Jeb hands me from the mini-fridge and try to relax till the next inning. 

A miracle happens right down at the eighth inning, however--in the form that I do hit the ball. It’s a mediocre hit that a three-year-old could do, provided that Lucinda took pity on me, and the impact hurts my arms and shakes my whole body, but I’ve managed to hit the ball nonetheless.

“_Run!”_ a dozen people from both teams yell. 

I follow the command and dash forward towards first base, so desperate to finally get something right that I just jump with my arms stretched out. I land in a cloud of dirt and smoke, something hitting my arm. 

“Safe!” I hear nonetheless--the second miracle today, a word I’d never heard before. 

Someone kneels by my side. Lucinda, playing as the first baseman on this inning, holds my arm. “You OK, Wanda?” 

“Yeah, think so,” I nod, sitting on the ground--on the first base, I realize in awe. A feat that seemed impossible while we were stepping into the field and every minute since. Although that’s kind of a lie--my side hurts. 

“Just so you know. . . Usually, one leaves the bat behind,” says Lucinda, taking the bat from the groundby my side. She gives it to Jamie, who’s come all the way over here just to check on me. 

“I’ll try to remember that next time,” I joke, albeit knowing there won’t be a next time. 

“Hell of a run,” he lies. “Nice landing, though. You hurt?” 

“No, I’m fine,” I promise. He helps me stand and I brush the dirt off my clothes, realizing they’re going to need a good wash up when we get home. I’m a freaking mess. No one goes back home after a game looking like I do. 

I notice everyone’s stares and I wave my hand at both teams to tell them that I’m OK, not at all surprised when half of my family doesn’t believe me. 

“Resume ball!” someone orders, and I almost want to kiss him. 

When Jamie returns and heads the bat to Dennys, the game resumes. For some reason I also make it to second base--by now my whole family, never mind their team, is cheering me. And now it’s Nicholas Senior’s turn to hit it.

“Make a run for it, you’ll have time!” Ian, in the third base, suggests. I nod, fearing the upcoming run. 

My father-in-law gives me time alright by hitting a home run. I still make an effort to run the rest of the pitch, my legs burning, panting by the time I reach home base, but there I’m received with cheering, hugs, and kisses by one and all. As if I had hit the home run. As for Nicholas, his arrival is almost inconspicuous compared to mine. So I let the game resume--my luck charm all but used in that one inning--and don’t tell anyone about my aching side. 

A few hours later I’m sitting on the benches with my whole family, drinking the blessedly cold beverages we’ve brought, and eating the disgusting-yet-delicious fast and food meals that we got from the truck outside the pitch. My team’s won, no thanks to me, that’s for sure, but no one has any regrets concerning the results. Although we’re still commenting on the game and some of the best moves and improvements that we’ve seen today, we’re just happy to be all together. Exhausted, covered in dust and sweat, wearing now sweaters to avoid catching a cold, the aftermath is meant to be another funny part of the family day. No one gives a damn about the results. 

“More fries, Mom?” Nick asks me, handing me the basket with fries on ketchup. 

I reach for the fries, stretching to the lower bench, but then my side hurts and I have to drop my arm. 

“No, I’m fine,” I say, settling back on my seat. 

“That’s it,” decides Ian, suddenly with a stern voice, wiping his lips on a napkin. “Finish your food. I’m taking you to the ER.”

“What? _Why?_

My theatrics haven’t yet improved, I'm afraid.

“Landing on your bat is usually a bad move, expert player or not,” reckons Mel, accepting the basket of fries from Nick, taking some and then handing it to me. “You do want that injury checked out.”

“Come on--I’m fine,” I complain.

“Let the Healers assert that.”

“Guys, I’m _not_ going to the ER for this! Can’t we just agree that I'll settle for taking No Pain a couple of days and remember to drop the bat next time?”

“If there’s ever a next time,” Jared mutters under his breath.

“That’s it, no more fries for you,” I scowl, returning the basket to Nick instead of handing it over to Ian and, next to him, Jared. That movement, so typically human, only makes the man, and the rest of our family, burst out laughing. But Jeb is, apparently, a better Soul that I am, for he stands and personally delivers the basket of fries to Jared.

“I’m not sure I want them, now,” he jokes.

“D’you want to have a brand new hat?” scowls Jeb, always the smile on his lips, proving that he’s fore and foremost a human.

Giving up, Jared takes the fries, in the midst of a roaring laughter from all the family. I laugh too, trying not to gasp or moan whenever my side hurts. Perhaps I am being a little childish and a visit to the ER is in order--but won’t give Ian that pleasure. If it comes to that, I’ll stop by the Healing Center in the morning before my lectures at College start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to personal reasons -- family stuff -- I won't be able to write and/or write anything for a while. I apologize for the hiatus in advance and promise to come back as soon as humanly possible ! Thank you for sticking around in the meantime.


	15. Seekers!

“_I WIN!!!!!!_ I AM THE CHAMPION, I AM THE CHAMPION--” Nick celebrates, yelling and singing at the top of his lungs, so out of tune that Jared, dramatically, covers his ears, and I chuckle at my son’s smugness and joy. 

However, Nick’s celebration is cut short when he throws his hands to the air and given the low ceiling of the car, hurts his hands. With a groan, he stops his singing. At the front seats, Jared and I chuckle upon his clumsiness, while Nick caresses his aching knuckles. 

“Nicely done,” I praise nonetheless--we have got to give credit where it’s due. After all, he’s beat me--and Jared--fair and square. I did not remember that President Eisenhower’s code name used by his Secret Service agents was “Providence.” 

“Thank you,” appreciates Nick, without letting his win go to his head--he’s a remarkable kid, he really is. “Let's go another round?”

“No, come on,” complains Jared, by my side. “You call it fun--I call it embarrassing.”

“Most of the questions are common knowledge,” Nick points out. 

“And my not knowing them just puts me to shame,” scowls Jared, turning to face the teenage boy at the back seats. The argument, however, was like water off a duck’s back, as neither Jared nor Nick are truly on edge. Even knowing that, I raise my voice to placate them both. 

“No one has said that,” I promise Jared. “And in that case, why don’t you suggest some other game to play at?” 

Given, for cone in his life, the chance to decide, Jared freezes, in shock, at a loss for words all of a sudden. Nick and I chuckle--we're all so used to our Q&A games, that picking something different, literally anything else, is difficult for the poor man. 

“How about I spy?” he suggests, his voice closer to an interrogation than a suggestion. 

“Come on!” scowls Nick, so loud that he almost startles me. Sixteen it’s way too old to play ‘I spy’, let alone two full grown-ups, and Jared mends his intervention right away, raising his hands and his voice over our complaints. 

“Okay, okay!” he accepts. “Your choice.”

“Great,” agrees my son, all too happy. 

Before he can think of an easy enough question, as not to discourage Jared on the very first round, a red and blue siren goes off directly behind us. I let out a squeal and grab the wheel tighter, tense all of a sudden. 

I signal that I’m pulling over to the right side of the Interstate we’re driving at, just as the officer behind us is commanding me. By my side, Jared reacts opposite to me, just chuckling under his breath. Even Nick looks relaxed, albeit he has checked he's wearing the seatbelt on and that we're not carrying or doing anything illegal back there. 

“Relax, Wanda. It’s not as if we were in a mission and our family depended on us,” Jared recommends. Albeit he was trying to get me to calm down--I get that much--he doesn’t succeed at all. 

“I can’t,” I scowl, slowly stopping the car, taking a breath. 

I don't need to instruct Jared to search for the car papers and my bag for the driver's license, and he hands it all to me silently, shaking his head at my sweaty hands. I wipe my hands on the trousers, without any results whatsoever, and lay all the documents on my lap. As I see the police officer approach by the rearview mirror, I find myself tapping on the documents nervously. 

Jared grabs my hands to stop the anxious tapping that's putting him on edge. 

“Let’s calm down. I was right here and didn’t see you doing anything wrong.” 

“I know that too, and that is the problem. I know I wasn’t doing anything wrong on purpose, so what if I was breaking the law by accident without even realizing it? It’d set a terrible precedent for us Souls.” 

“Were you speeding?” asks Nick, making me groan. Everyone in the car knows I wasn’t. 

“You didn’t happen to run over somebody while I was not looking?” adds Jared to the turmoil, his amusement only angering me a bit more. 

“Excuse me,” says the officer, tapping on my window. I read the surprise on his eyes upon realizing he’s just stopped me, Wanderer, of all people, but he pulls it together and just fulfills his duties. I thank him for that. “Papers, please.” 

“Right away,” I say, handing him the license and the papers for the car’s latest inspection. 

He takes it all without a word and grabs a notepad and pen from his waist. In the meantime, I look back at Nick and Jared, who aren’t worried at all about being stopped--only the possibility of being stuck in a fan-induced conversation and selfie with the officer appalls them. I try to follow their example, killing the seconds by tapping some melody on the car wheel, but I can’t stand the silence for more than a minute. 

“May I ask what’s wrong, officer?” I ask in fear. 

He smiles up at me, making my heart beat again. “Your back light’s broken.” 

The sigh of relief makes the police officer chuckle, especially given the fact that he knows I'm Wanderer and I wouldn't ordinarily do anything wrong. On the other hand, Jared and Nick turn back, but they're unable to check the officer's statement. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t noticed,” I reply. 

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” says the officer, nodding at me. “It’s nothing that should have you going into cardiac arrest, so please take a breath.” 

At his recommendation, I inhale and exhale deeply a couple times, still a bit shaken. When he sees I'm doing better he nods approvingly, smiles at me and gives me back my license, and the car papers. Without thinking, I give it all to Jared for him to deal with. 

“So, a fine and that’s it?” asks he, an idea that gets me to roll my eyes--and so do Nick and the police officer behind my back, actually. Jared was only joking, of course. He’s never been given a speeding ticket or any other kind of fine in his damned life, mainly because those do not exist anymore. 

“You need to get it fixed right away,” says the police officer, and I thank him for not encouraging Jared any longer. “The nearest mechanic is in Longmont. I will check that you get there.” 

“Of course,” I nod. “Thank you so--”

“Actually, sir,” interjects Jared, bending by the waist to greet the police officer with a wave of his hand and a charming smile. “Hi there, sir, good morning. I’m Jared Howe, this lady’s brother-in-law.” 

“I remember,” says the man, a bit confused. 

“Great! Well then, I’m not sure if you remember, but I work as a mechanic too. In Denver. Would it be alright to get it fixed there?” 

“_Jared!”_ I shriek, addressing the officer right away, waving the suggestion away. “Do not mind him, sir, he didn’t really mean it.” 

“Of course I did,” scowls the man, confused by my reaction. 

“Jared,” I growl once more, glaring at him--unfortunately, it doesn’t take the same effect as to when Mel glares at him. “What makes you think things have changed that much? This is a police officer performing his duties. If he says we need to go to Longmont to get our light fixed, we are going to Longmont to get our light fixed and that’s the end of it.

“I’m so sorry, officer,” I apologize, for the man still hasn’t been able to put in a word throughout the whole argument. “We’ll go to Longmont as required.” 

“Actually, if Denver suits you better, you can get it fixed there,” he says against all odds. 

“What?” I whisper, bewildered. If this is about favoritism. . . 

“Dear Wanderer, while I agree we’re all rule-abiding citizens nowadays, rules can adapt to citizens’ needs. If Denver is better for you than Longmont, you can get your car fixed back at your home city.” 

“Thank. . . You. . .” I whisper, still a bit in disbelief. I understand his reasoning in trying to make people’s lives easier, not harsher, which is after all the epitome of Soul’s society. Even so, such an openhearted and easy-going stand feels eerily strange coming from an officer of the Law. 

He seems to read the doubts on my eyes, for the officer just bursts out laughing. “I’m not trying to entrap you into anything, Wanderer, I promise. We’re almost halfway to Denver and Longmont, it’s alright. 

“I will have to check the reparations,” he adds, sterner voice now. 

“Okay, then,” I nod, feeling this warning suits an officer of the Law better. However, I can’t shake the feeling he said that only because of my sake, in a slightly mocking way. “Do you need our home address?” 

“Already got it,” he replies, patting the notepad where he wrote down our information from my driver’s license. “I’ll see you soon. Drive safely.” 

“Thank you, officer,” three voices raise. 

The man nods once, a general wave for the three of us, before returning to his car. Beyond the vehicles driving past us, I can hear him whistling and humming some tune, nonchalant. For him, this was only a routine stop without any further consequences. For me, I’m not entirely sure of what that was. 

After a minute, the office drives past us, waving goodbye, and drives off. 

“Come on, Mom, what’re you waiting for?” demands Nick, mildly worried, as I still haven’t moved a muscle after the officer has vanished from sight. 

“Are you alright?” asks Jared, reaching out a dubious hand. 

Making up my mind for the two of us, in order to spare us from a possibly uncomfortable exchange, I return to Earth and turn the key. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

The engine revs and I check the rearview mirror to see if it’s safe to return to the driveway and step on the gas. Soon afterwards I’m driving under the speed limit again, headed for Denver--straight for Jared’s mechanic shop. 

“Weren’t we going to have another round of Q&A?” I press, silence making me even more uncomfortable.


	16. Origin Teachings

“Fucking hell,” scowls Annie. 

“Hey, language,” reprimand three people at once--me, Hallie and Melvin. 

The girl rolls her eyes at the never-ending propriety from all the Souls present at the caravan. We’re as angry and depressed as she is but no one in the vehicle has yet lost their temper or proper manners. Bad weather certainly doesn’t cover for it. 

“Well, sorry but, could we be any less lucky? I mean, this is supposed to be our grand adventure in the woods, our celebratory trip for getting through high school--and it's pouring cats and dogs!!” 

“Hey, didn’t we want a real-life adventure? You’ve got it.” 

“Are you going to sleep on the wet, cold ground, Nick?” asks Joanne coldly. 

“No, but that’s why I came prepared,” I say, patting at my back. I, for one, haven’t forgotten to pack a tent and sleeping bag. Comfortability was a top priority for me. 

“Thanks for giving a heads-up,” scowls Martin. 

“Hey, it’s not as if we can’t stop by a store before heading into the woods,” replies Ethan, his nose glued to his cellphone. “Plus, forecast says it’s going to be sunny starting tomorrow.” 

“A bit late for us,” says Annie. 

“Come on, where’s your adventure spirit?” 

“Back at home. Which is where we’re going to end up, probably, for I don’t think the plane will be able to lift off.” 

“Oh, don’t talk without knowing all the facts. You don’t realize yet what our technology is able to produce and accomplish,” says Melvin, pride in those gleamy eyes of his. 

“I’ll just be happy if lightning doesn’t strike us down,” scowls James. 

“Ye of little faith.” 

I shake my head--we might be pissed off because of the bad weather ruining our adventure, but we can still have a hell of a good time together. Our banter and jokes might last for hours on end yet while we take the plane and then reach the campsite--although more than the weather, it might just be John’s tardiness the one thing that’ll screw up our leisure trip.

I look up at the building in front of me. Somewhere up there on the fifth floor John is wasting time doing God knows what. We’ve been waiting for him more than ten minutes already--and we gave him notice we were coming to pick him up after collecting Joanne. God knows that he’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body. 

Sighing, I just rub my eyes and take a tissue to dry off the rain that’s poured from the open window. When I was about to roll it up, I see a woman at the other side of the street struggling with a few shopping bags while crossing the green light. The sight simply compels me to abandon the caravan without saying a word, venturing into the pouring rain, and meet her. 

“Here you go,” I say, handing her my open umbrella, covering her from the rain. 

Surprised, she looks up at me, her face all moist from the water, her hair dripping. Although it must be hard to balance out an umbrella with the three shopping bags she’s carrying as well. 

“Oh, thank you very much,” she says, pulling a lock of hair away from her eyes and forehead. 

“Didn’t check the sky before leaving your place?” I chuckle. 

“No, that I did. I didn’t check my umbrella, which broke a couple of blocks back. I guess it was just too worn-out already.” 

“Well, sorry to hear that. Please take mine,” I insist, helping her grab the umbrella. 

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry, I have a ride,” I say, pointing over my shoulder. All of my friends’ heads are popping out of the windows to check what in the world I’m doing out here, but they seem to understand. “Actually, would you like us to drive you home? Those look heavy.” 

“That’s OK, I live just around the corner.” 

“Or I could just walk with you.” 

“No, thank you, young man, but your friends will miss you. However, write down your number and address, please,” she asks, handing me her cell phone now, “so I can return your umbrella.” 

“I’m going away for a couple of weeks, so I’ll write down my mother’s number, if that’s OK with you,” I say, typing Mom’s cell phone. This is just too normal these days--I’ve got in my phone’s memory dozens of neighbors and random passerby’s numbers in order to return a favor we did to one another. We call it networking, although in truth is just how a Soul community works. 

“Going on a trip?” asks the woman after waving at my friends in the caravan. 

“Yeah, that was the plan, weather permits,” I nod, returning her the cell phone. At that moment I see in her eyes what I've been dreading and she gasps. 

“I’m sorry, but do I know you--?”

I smile politely, the lie already prepared. She probably does know me, from the TV or some magazine article or whatnot. Some things are just unavoidable. 

“No, ma’am, I don’t think so. I’ve just got one of those faces.”

She doesn’t look convinced by my lie, but thanks to God, she doesn’t insist. Our family decided a few years back, after getting tired of the notoriety everywhere we went, that sometimes we could lie about it. Although it is lying for selfish reasons--our peace of mind--we considered it sufficient to break one of the Origin teachings, so long as we didn’t break any others in the process: we always have to maintain proper decorum and propriety. It’s just, I don’t want every stranger I walk by on the street to know I’m Wanderer’s son and to be questioned for hours on end. It gets tiresome after a bit, and what should be a five-minute meeting, just like this one, could turn into a full-hour debate I’ve got no patience to weather through right now. 

“Have a good day, ma’am,” I bid farewell. 

“You too. I hope the rain stops soon, for the sake of your adventure.” 

“Oh, I think it will.” 

I stand there on the street while the woman keeps on walking under the rain and the weight of the heavy bags--and then turns a corner. When she disappears, I return to the caravan, just as wet as the woman was a minute ago, and grab a towel from my backpack to dry my hair and face. I'll have to change when we get to the airport, if we have the time. 

All around me I notice strange looks from my friends and I can’t but pick up on the awkward silence surrounding me, now that the earlier conversation and usual friendly banter does not keep up. Sighing in defeat, I drop the towel, running a hand through my hair, drops of water pouring everywhere. 

“Eight years, guys,” I scowl, addressing mainly Ethan and James, the two Souls in the van. The others are just pondering if I've lost my mind for venturing into the pouring rain like that. “You’ve known me for more than eight years now and you’re still surprised when I act and behave like a proper Soul. As if it’s not what you’re trying to accomplish--humans learning Souls’ Origin teachings regarding courtesy. When will you get over the fact that I was actually raised by Wanderer?” 

“Sorry, sorry,” apologizes James, retreating back to the driving seat. 

“It’s always funny to meet a human who actually behaves like a Soul 24/7,” Ethan tries to justify. 

“Oh, really, man. If you want to I can get into a fight every now and then with a random stranger, just to fit into your stereotype of humans.” 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” promises James immediately. 

“Although it would be funny to see you try,” adds Joanne, a sly smile on her lips, looking as if she were assessing me. “You wouldn’t even stand through the first round.” 

“Whatever,” I scowl, hitting her with my towel. “Will someone call John? And tell him if he’s not down here in five minutes, we are going to leave him behind for real.”


	17. Restaurative Justice

Sitting on the couch, I can’t stop rubbing my kind of sweaty palms hands over and over, to sometimes give a break to my balding hair and stop running my hands through my hair. By my side, Nick’s not doing so good--but I don’t really understand why he’s nervous all of a sudden. Neither of us is watching the documentary on the TV. 

As a matter of fact, I turn off the TV and don’t get any complaints about it when I hear the bedroom door open. I stand to meet Wanda, who’s chosen to wear a beautiful sleeveless green dress. I reach out a hand and kiss her knuckles, making her smile with that radiant way of hers that always makes me smile in return. 

“Good God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper. 

“And you’re a flatterer,” chuckles Wanda. “We ready?” 

I should be the one asking her that, but I know she won’t be able to handle it if I do, so keep my mouth shut. Instead, I just grab Wanda’s jacket and call Nick. Our thirteen-year-old son jumps out of the couch and meets us down the hall, meeting his mother by giving her a quick peck on the cheek. As I help Wanda into her summer jacket, I see a funny look on Nick’s eyes--remorse? Guilt? Shame? I cannot tell and it’s not the time to analyze and worry Wanda about it. I just open the front door and step aside for Wanda and Nick. 

“I’m driving,” I say, reaching for the car keys Wanda was holding. 

She tenses, I know she was planning on driving to pretend to be too focused on the road for our sake, but I’m just scared she’s just got too many things to worry about right now to drive anywhere safely. She still puts up an act, though, by turning on the radio and humming absentmindedly all the songs that she clearly doesn’t know. 

At the back seats, Nick just stares through the windows and avoids my eye. He’s been keeping to himself these past few weeks, actually, up to a point where for the first time in my life I’m as concerned a parent as Wanda regarding Nick hiding and keeping things from us. We know he was not involved--heck, he was with Dad that night--but alas, what is going on inside that head of his? If he could just open up. . . He should know he can trust us if he’s got any problems whatsoever. 

Reaching our destination, the Public Library, isn’t such a relief as I thought it would be. After all, we’re all here on duty. That’s why the parking lot is full to the brim albeit it being a Sunday and I need to park a few blocks away. It’s not surprising; there are more than fifty people invited today, amongst family members, friends, teachers, classmates, and other members of the community. 

We need almost five full minutes to greet everyone, including being introduced to some parents and friends we didn’t know, before we finally see some friendly faces: Mel, Jamie, and their mother, Hannah. After all, Nick and Jamie are included within the “classmates” category, although Jamie refused to participate, since he’s a few grades higher than Nick, David and Matthew. We stand there a bit awkwardly, but of course, the good-hearted conversation between Mel and Wanda saves us all. 

When we’re called to step in and everyone starts filing into the Library, Hannah looks back at us, worry in her eyes. Over the years, somehow, she’s managed to feel about Wanda just as strongly as for her own daughter and Nick as her own grandson. But this is one instance where she shouldn’t feel worried at all--that’s why I am here. 

“Should I come in too?” 

“No, we’ll be fine,” promises Nick, looking at Wanda with a warm smile. He’s quite perfected the poker face, I’ll grant him that one. 

She smiles back at Hannah to reassure her, caressing her arm. Wanda was asked, again, to come as a support person of the community--but for how many people exactly, I wonder? 

“If you’re sure,” whispers Hannah. 

“We’ll see you later,” I bid farewell--we’re almost the only ones remaining outside already and it usually does not do to be late. “Enjoy your afternoon.” 

We head for the children’s section, the agreed ubication for the meeting, for it’s the only space big enough to host everyone. The circle and chairs are already set up, but only half of them are occupied for the moment; a lot of people are standing, gathered in small groups of friends, classmates, family members, or teachers, talking in whispers. 

Nick has to leave us in order to sit down closeby to Matthew and David, the two human boys who look worse and more nervous than any other person. Wanda, as a moderator and facilitator, she has to sit in the middle of the circle, in front of Matthew and David, surrounded by their parents. I settle for a chair four seats to Wanda’s right. It’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do. 

After checking that everyone invited is here already, we’re come to order by the Court clerk and we all take our seats. When everyone settles and there’s complete silence, Wanda clears her throat and stands. 

“Thank you all for coming here today. This is not a new procedure for us--well, maybe it is new to some,” she adds, making a few dozen people, humans especially, laugh softly. This procedure is pretty new to us. “But we all know the drill. Nowadays, we all work together as a community to solve our problems and to solve what concerns us. This is why we’re all here. We’re going to listen to everyone’s point of view, so, if you would, please, Matthew.” 

At her invite, one of the boys, Matthew, stands, a bit awkward, nervously rubbing his hands against his trousers. Wanda doesn’t resume her seat, out of showing support for the boy, and encourages him to walk to the center of the circle and speak up. 

“Thank you, Wanderer, and thank you all too. I understand that you’re angry at what happened. I want to tell you that enough time has passed for me and David to realize what we did was stupid and wrong. We were told ever since we were kids about the dangers of drinking alcohol and, well--we’ve lived them first-hand, now.” 

David steps in, standing side by side with his peer--clearly, the interventions so far had been planned and talked beforehand. 

“We wanted to have some fun that night and tried alcohol just for the thrill of it. We see now it was a terrible, horrible mistake. It just got out of hand. We didn’t know what was happening, what we were doing. And we could never have predicted what went on afterwards.” 

A man a few seats to my right stands. 

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘what went on’, boy? Why don’t you live up to your maturity and the responsibility you claim? Man up, kids! You destroyed public property and--” 

“Please, Mr. Sampson,” Wanda interjects, her voice mellow, “you will have the chance to speak, so, for now, I must ask you to respect everyone’s speaking time. Also, I must remind you that this is a neutral and deferential space, where--” 

“No, it’s OK, Wanda,” says David, before addressing the man. “And you’re right, Mr. Sampson. We should man up and take responsibility for what we did. We drank and got so intoxicated that we didn’t know what we were doing. In the course of that night, we painted the Library walls with obscene pictures. . .” 

“And were found next morning passed out in the park over there,” Matthew finishes the sentence David was struggling with. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Mr. Sampson?” 

The man is taken aback by the boy’s aggressiveness and resumes his seat without another word. 

“We are terribly sorry,” says David, turning to look at everybody in the circle. 

“And we’re willing to do anything you deem fit to fix what we did wrong,” adds Matthew. 

They’ve said all they wanted to say and share; now it’s the turn for the rest of us. After checking that the two boys are ready for this, Wanda takes her seat and then David’s mother, Angela, speaks. Hers is the speech repeated by the four parents of the boys: they’re appalled by their son’s actions, they formally apologize for their behavior that night and, on behalf of their sons, will accept the resolution that comes out of this meeting. 

Afterward, it’s a couple of neighbors, another worker from the Library, the public cleaning services who’d be forced to wash out the paintings from the Library’s walls. They all stand in turn to speak up their minds and feelings--and meanwhile, Matthew and David do their best to stand there in the middle of the circle, facing every speaker in turn, without interrupting or trying to find excuses for their behavior. 

I pass on my turn and everyone understands; I’m just here to show support, mainly for Wanda, actually. At some point, Nick has to speak up too and I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, a bit surprised that he didn’t refuse to speak altogether. 

He stands and shares a look with David and Matthew, who nod at him. 

“I’ll be brief,” Nick says right off the start, avoiding my and Wanda’s eyes. “And just to get to the point--I want to remind you all that Mat and Dave are, actually, human. They were born human and had never a Soul inserted inside of them--have never heard or understood first-hand Souls’ teachings from the Origin Planet. Let me be clear: I’m not trying to condone or justify what they did wrong, because we all know they did something wrong. But experimenting and searching for extreme sensations and feelings are intrinsic for us humans. It’s in our nature--we’re just as curious as species as Souls. Yes, on their case it kind of got out of hand, I won’t deny that, but. . . Yeah, I’m guessing that’s all I wanted to say. Humans will try foolhardy and stupid things now and then. And I think that if Souls and humans are going to coexist for the foreseeable future, we need to understand that.” 

As he sits down, sinking in his seat, and another one of his classmates stands, I share a brief look with Wanda. She looks just as surprised as I am. Sure, his speech was flawless, the result of Wanderer, of all Souls, being her mother. . . But at the same time, we fear that his speech was just a chance to justify him committing those same actions. Is that what he’s hiding? I’d hoped he’d tell us something like that. 

Three seats to Nick’s right, their teacher stands. He smiles at Matthew and David before turning around to meet eyes with everyone--takes me a second to realize he’s actually addressing his speech to the Souls present. 

“I must pick up with Nick O’Shea left things,” he says. “Yes, David and Matthew are humans and we cannot expect from them the same behavior and politeness we’d expect from a Soul, or a human who once had a Soul inserted in their system. I would also like to remind you all that they’re thirteen: they’re just teenagers, adolescents. Back in the day, we argued very often the threshold of legal age--and I won’t get into it right now. I just want you all to remember what it was like when we were that age. We wanted to have fun, we dared each other to stupid and oftentimes reckless missions. . . It’s just part of our lives, one of the best--and stupidest--part of our lives. An extremely harsh sentence will do more harm than good at this moment for them. I know that from experience. I just want to ask all the people present to be stern, yes, but also compassionate and sensible.” 

When he sits down again, it’s just two more people before everyone’s had their say. Then comes the more tricky part; up until now, the speaking times had been agreed beforehand and we’d all accepted the turns. Now it’s the debate part of the meeting, to reach a decision and a resolution concerning the boy’s fate. Wanda and the Court clerk need to use the “token” for people to respect each other’s point of views and assessments and not to speak over everybody else. For this part, Dave and Matthew remain silent in their seats, their parents speaking for them--and as it turns out, also their teacher and classmates. 

At some point, Wanda and the Court clerk suggest taking a five-minute recess to calm down and renew energies. I don’t have the opportunity to talk to Wanda or Nick during that period of time, since they’re both busy, and so I share a few pleasantries with some neighbors and long-distance friends. 

It takes us two more hours of arguing and deliberating to reach a verdict. Matthew and Dave will clean the Library’s walls with the help of the public cleaning services and will work for two weeks with the Park caretakers, but beyond that, it is settled that the two boys, other classmates, friends, neighbors and everyone who wants to join in will participate in the painting of a mural for the Library walls. The idea is to enjoy a fun community service that will take most of a day, to participate in a joined activity and to beautify the building. Wouldn’t be the first time this kind of service is taken upon in Denver, or in the States. 

Meeting’s finished, at long last, the circle formation is no longer necessary and we place the chairs back against the walls and gather in small groups. Some people start discussing the meeting, which is the very last thing I need right now after three hours stuck in here, so I go meet Wanda. I have to whisk her away from the Court clerk, teachers, and neighbors surrounding her and take her to a corner to kiss her on the lips. 

“What’s brought this up?” she laughs when I move away. 

“Can’t you tell? I need to go home,” I say, without opening my eyes just yet. 

“Well, you’re going to have to be patient a little while longer,” she warns me, kissing me on the tip of the nose. “It’s snack time now--you know that.” 

“Do we have to stay here for that?” 

“Yes,” she says simply. “It helps de-escalate the situation after the stress we’ve been through the past few hours. Look.” 

Following her command, I take a peek over my shoulder. I see smiles on a lot of people’s faces, some are laughing, making jokes, others are helping taking out tables, and the trays of food everyone brought in. But more especially, Matthew and Dave, talking with Nick and some more classmates, finally look at ease. I’ve seen them shaking hands with Mr. Sampson and the public cleaning services members. Yes, I know she’s right and I understand her point. Still, I’d rather be home--we’ve already fulfilled our required public services for the day. 

Of course, that’s not an option and I know it. Wanda would never be willing to leave, not so soon, and so I keep quiet. More people are joining us for the snack, including Mel, Jamie, and their mother, bringing with them more food and beverages, and all too soon the Library feels small and too crowded. We let the youngsters leave and have a football match out in the park and although I’d love to join them too, I stay for a chitchat with friends and neighbors for another forty-five minutes. Then I can’t help myself and join Nick and Kyle over to the football match, which soon enough becomes a parents against children game. 

Every day that passes we realize--and I don’t know why we’re surprised anymore at this point--that Souls are right about most of their teachings concerning the well-being of a community. This is the proper way to handle petty misbehavior, more than our former Criminal System--and this, snacks and a game of football, is the correct way to wrap things up and makeup afterward. When will I ever learn that Wanda’s right most of the time?


	18. Another Year Ends. . .

“Hey, Justin: the original Olympic Games in ancient Greece honored which God?” Masozi asks her classmate, two rows down. 

“Zeus, of course,” says Justin. Masozi nods in approval, and then Justin looks across the room, trying to point a random classmate while figuring out another piece of trivia before the time runs out. He locks eyes with Alice, standing by a dark corner, and I can’t help but chuckle upon Justin’s mischievous grin--he is going to disqualify Alice, no doubt about it. “What does the term ‘piano’ mean in music?” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” scowls Alice, taking her seat back. She hasn’t had the chance of answering any questions today, the poor woman, and a short burst of applause rises to pity her, which just upsets her even more. “Oh, knock it off, all of you. What does it mean, incidentally?” 

“To be played softly,” Jaime, standing by my side, answers. 

“Okay, then,” sighs Alice. “You go ahead, Jaime.” 

The boy looks just too eager for the opportunity, taking some steps forward on the dais to find his next target. This time, he addresses his question to Akousa, using the sign language himself to phrase it: _“who became Prime Minister of the UK after Winston Churchill?”_ The answer, of course, it’s Sir Anthony Eden, and Jaime raises his hands and waves them in the air in approval. In turn, Akousa snaps her fingers a couple of times to catch the attention of Martin, standing by the end of the classroom. He’s still got a clear shot of Akousa signing her question: _“What is Santa Claus known in Russia?”_ Out of respect, Martin signs the answer back, too: _“Grandfather Frost.” _

Later on, Martin disqualifies Aurora from the game because the woman did not know that blue was originally the color associated with St. Patrick’s Day, not green. And so, the student takes her seat for the first time today, a record few people hold still. 

Questions keep being asked from students to guests across the room, and if they answer incorrectly, they get disqualified and get to sit down, but if they answer the question correctly, they keep standing and the game continues. This is what my last class looks like every semester: a fun way to remember things the students, and myself, have learned all this year. 

Of course, my classes have become kind of popular--although their original motive has long been lost in the corners of my mind, the corners of the millions of humans who’ve gotten their bodies back. And, these games, have become more popular still, so it’s open doors for everyone on this day. Every student who’s ever attended my class is welcome to return. Every colleague is welcome to join in and test their knowledge, and so are the members of my family. 

“According to a famous Polish legend, which creature made a blanket to keep baby Jesus warm?” Asks Elizabeth. 

“An angel?” ventures Shifra, a student who graduated College six years ago at the very least. She got it wrong--it was a spider, according to Elizabeth. And for that reason, Shifra takes a bow, thanking the applause she’s receiving, before sitting back down. 

It’s only a dozen people left standing around the classroom, including Jaime, Nick, and myself. Those two boys have certainly spent one too many days in a Library the past few years and could, and actually can, give me a run for my money nowadays. In our family Q&A, it’s now impossible to know who’ll be the last man standing. Which kind of transforms our little games into a whole other league, actually. Ian, who’s attended the class, per usual, has been sitting for almost the whole round at the back of the room, and keeps distracting me time and time again. Now with suggesting winks and looks across the class, then with funny faces that make it very hard not to burst out laughing in the middle of the game. 

“In which ancient South Asian language is the text of _The Vedas_ written?” 

And that’s one more victory that Lily can brag she’s claimed today, for Ludmita did not know the answer. Lily then looks at me, trying to get a second victim on a row, but I do remember it was written in Sanskrit--after all, we covered those religious texts this same academic year, too. 

My question takes us down on a literary path, by asking Charles, my most faithful auditing student this year, which Spanish festival is featured in Ernest Hemingway’s ‘The Sun Also Rises.’ He does not disappoint me by answering that it’s the festival of San Fermin, and then he goes ahead to go on a full-out dare to Nick. . . And he loses, because Nick obviously knew that the Carolina Reaper is considered the hottest pepper in the whole world, as of 2013. Charles’ move was a very badly calculated risk, for then he gets disqualified upon Nick’s question, for being unaware that in the Christian religion, the traditional Christmas color red symbolizes Jesus’ blood. 

“I apologize,” chuckles Charles, as he sits down again, Ian patting his shoulder. 

The game finishes about fifteen minutes later. I’m disqualified soon after Charles himself, by my own son--to the shock of our audience. Jamie takes his revenge soon after, disqualifying Nick on the next round, and from then on, he beats every other contestant until he’s the only one standing in the whole room. 

An outstanding ovation erupts at Jaime’s win, although some people that lost from the beginning only stand to seize the chance of stretching their necks, arms and legs a bit--poor Ian included. Jaime claims his prize: a home-made medal with a #1 written on it and blue ribbons. I make it myself every year--and I only won it a handful of times, being completely honest. More than one student can hold their head up high knowing they took that medal home, fair and square. 

“Well, I suppose this is it for today,” I say then, and some people chuckle--that’s my line for saying goodbye on my everyday lectures. “To my students, I will see you next fall. And to everyone else, thank you all for coming here today, and I hope I see you most of you next year around this time.” 

I still need about fifteen more minutes to wrap up the last class of the semester, though. Most students enrolled in my class and colleagues just come up to wish me happy holidays with my family, but as per older students and members of our little family from the caves--Lucinda never ever misses a lecture, unless for major cause reasons--I make the effort to greet them all personally with kisses and hugs. We try to exchange a few words, also. It helps to put things into perspective, as a matter of fact. People that were my students six or ten years ago show up now all grown-up with their toddlers, or telling magnificent tales about their Callings. 

“You done?” asks Ian, taking my hand, when finally it’s just the four of us here. 

“Yep,” I confirm. “I’m officially on holiday.” 

“Well, congratulations,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. Jaime and Nick are too busy to care about us, shutting the windows, turning off the projector, putting the chairs back in their places, and turning off the lights. With that, us four are the last ones to leave the classroom. 

Mel and Jared were waiting for us down the hall, and we see them talking to Lucinda. They couldn’t make it to the lecture after work, and although they could have come inside, either way, they decided not to. 

“You won _again?”_ scowls Mel upon seeing Jaime holding the medal. 

“Indeed, he did,” confirms Ian. 

Jamie, however, doesn’t brag at all about his win, and holds the medal in his hands, looking around without giving much of an explanation. He suddenly excuses himself from our group, as we were talking about our plans for today and the holidays, and goes to Mrs. Njlon, waiting with her baby for the elevator. Jamie, after asking the woman’s permission, kneels in front of the baby and gives her the medal, which Ayelene takes without any arguing, delighted for the present. 

“Thank you, young man,” appreciates Njlon. 

“My pleasure. Have a good day, ma’am,” Jamie bids farewell just as the elevator doors open, and he holds the button for open doors until Njlon has stepped inside with her baby cart. 

He returns to our little group, nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. “So, what are we doing today?” 

We were discussing many options: going to the cinemas, taking the car and spending a couple of days out of town, visiting Jeb at his cabin in the woods for one night. . . I grin, holding onto Ian. “I’ve got an idea.” 

“Dear Lord, you call _this_ a holiday?” scowls Jared a couple of hours later, sweating tremendously and gasping just a bit. 

“We really need to teach you Souls better,” agrees Mel. 

“No one forced you to come,” I reply. 

“What about common sense? Or responsibility towards the community?” 

“So we _are_ teaching you properly,” I remark, just a little bit pleased that Souls’ teachings truly are rubbing off on our human neighbors. If Jared couldn’t just drop it all and go back home because of a sense of a guilty conscience, that means we’re finally doing something good. 

Although, deep down, I do reckon he and everyone else do have a point. Working our asses outdoors on a hot summer day like today, at midday, might have been a wrong idea after all. Even if taking care of the greenhouses benefits our whole community, I’m tired and sweaty all over, too. But I refuse to acknowledge defeat and instead, I just go and take bottles of water for everyone. Our shift won’t last too long, now.


	19. Car workshop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanda's POV

As I turn the corner I see the usual half a dozen cars parked outside on the street waiting their turn, and then there's Mark, talking to a client with his car's hood open, checking who knows what.

“Oi there! Good morning, Wanderer.” 

“Hello, Mark,” I greet warmly, but do not let the man wrap me into a conversation, out of consideration for their potential client. “I don’t mean to intrude, is Jared around?” 

Nodding, Mark steps inside the shop, taking a brief look around, then raises one arm. 

“Yeah, over there, fixing that blue Subaru.” 

“Thanks,” I say, truly thanking the fact that he did point out the car in question, or else I would have been lost. “Talk to you later?”

“I’ll be here,” he promises, then addresses his client again.

I cross the shop with my bag under the arm, greeting every last worker at the shop. It’s not only the fact that I've stopped by dozens of times--humans or Souls, it would be rude not to say hello. Some of them even stop their work for a little while, but they all decline to shake hands, hug or kiss me because their hands and clothes are filthy with grease and oil. However, Jared's the one who doesn’t notice my presence until I'm two feet away from his position. 

“Jared!” I yell. 

He jumps, hitting his head on the car’s hood, the blow making the hood support fall. Jared was quick enough to step away from the vehicle so his hands are not stuck and smashed under the hood. 

“Good God, Wanda, you scared the hell out of me,” he scowls, rubbing his head. 

“Sorry. I’ll remember next time.” 

“What’re you doing here? Car trouble?” he asks, looking around for a familiar vehicle. 

“No, Mel called. You forgot your lunch,” I say, showing him the paper bag. Jared smiles appreciatingly, cocking his head, not at all embarrassed by the situation. 

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this,” he says, wiping his greasy hands in a cloth before taking the paper bag. 

“It was my free day at College,” I shrug. 

“Exactly my point,” nods Jared, taking the bag over to a table and waving for me to follow. He grabs a bottle of water and takes a long sip, then offers me some, which I decline. “Should have slept in, have the day to yourself.” 

“And that’s exactly what I did,” I promise. “But by 10 am I was bored out of my mind.”

Jared bursts out laughing, knowing that I am a woman who can’t sit on her hands for long. He opens the bag to check its contents and then realizes there’s food for two. I smile at him. 

“Is it lunch break yet?” I ask. 

“Just give me ten minutes, I want to finish--” 

“Say no more,” I interject, jumping on the table, proving that I’ll wait for him. 

He kisses me on the cheek and goes back to his work. In the meantime, I open the bag, get out the couple beverages and plastic cups, and pour myself some water. In a matter of seconds, Jared has forgotten all about me, focused as he is in his Subaru. 

“Wanda, still there?” he asks a few minutes later without looking up from the car motor. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Can you give me the socket wrench that’s on the table? The half-inch one?” 

The tool’s name does ring a bell of sorts and I look down on the dozens of tools scattered all over the table that I had to move to make space for our lunch. In the end, I manage to find it and jump off the table to Jared’s side. He grabs the tool and thanks me with his eyes still glued on the engine, and then freezes, looking down at the tool on his hand. A crooked smile on his lips, he straightens and gives me a disbelieving look.

“What?” 

“This is what you call a half-inch socket wrench?” 

“It’s not the half-inch one?” 

“Wanda. . . This is not a socket wrench, let alone the half-inch one! Have you forgotten everything you learned for your test last year?” 

I roll my eyes. Last year I forced my family to get a license for driving, guessing everyone would pass with flying colors because, after all, we’ve all been driving cars and trucks and all sorts of vehicles for ages, whether we were legally allowed to do so or not. Only thing was, I never thought I’d have that much of a problem passing the theoric and technical part of the exam. Jared, Ian, and Mel spent weeks hammering all sorts of information into my brain. 

“Ugh. If you can complain that much you can get that blasted wrench yourself,” I say, pointing at the table with a nod of my head. 

Jared complies, giving me the tool I’d handed him and returning to the car a few seconds later with a tool astonishingly different from the one I’d picked up. Jared’s smirk only makes it all harder to bear and I roll my eyes. 

“So you don’t know everything,” Jared summarizes. 

“I never pretended that I did,” I reply. 

“Weren’t you the one who once said ‘in order to fix something, first we need to understand how that thing works’ or something along those lines?” 

“First of all, I don’t need to understand how cars work in order to fix a car because that’s why people like you, who know all about cars, exist. Second of all, if everyone knew everything there was to know about cars, you’d be unemployed,” I list. 

“Fair enough,” grants Jared, who’s kept on working while I babbled, now using the one tool he needed. “Are there any more points?” 

“Yes. Number three--I hate you.”

Jared stops his work again, leaning on the side of the car to pierce me with his eyes. 

“That is such a common human feeling,” he chuckles softly. He keeps talking before I can manage to give him an appropriate answer--I have spent too many years amongst humans, it's almost a miracle I haven't forgotten most of hte Origin teachings myself. “Come on, Iet’s eat, I’m starving. What did you bring again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus !! I promise I'll try to update the work more regularly !!


	20. O'Wanda Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This stems directly from original material I made up in the last work of the series, where a human and a Soul can share a very intimate and special experience (chapter 31 from _'A whole New World'_ for reference! )

“Close your eyes,” Ian mutters under his breath. 

I immediately follow his recommendation, dropping all the popcorn in the bowl and turning my head against Ian's shoulder. However, no one is considerate enough to also turn down the volume, especially considering we’re watching a freaking musical, and even if I don’t see it firsthand, I still understand that the Phantom has, finally, killed someone of the theatre crew. 

Ian caresses my arm to fight the shivers running down my spine and after a few seconds, he kisses my forehead. 

“It’s okay now,” he promises. 

Wearily, I open my eyes and see the honesty in his, so I face the TV again, going straight for the popcorn in case the body or the fake blood is shown. Ian’s told me to look when we're in the clear, though. And I notice all of my family’s stares on me, not the screen. 

“Are there any more surprises?” I ask, my voice weak and shaky. 

“Some,” grants Mel, an incredibly vague response, yet I sink on the couch even more. 

“But, Wanda--” 

“I know. It’s a classic,” I interject Jamie. And it was one of Olivia’s favorite musicals of all times, so I really couldn’t refuse to watch The Phantom of the Opera with them. “At least I’m here, aren't I?” 

We drop the argument to be able to follow the move's storyline, although almost everyone in my family does know the general plot. Over the couch, Nicholas sends me an apologetic and at the same time thankful look. He knows I’m here standing this movie mainly because of him and because of his late wife. I nod and he turns over the TV again, grabbing some popcorns from Nick’s bowl. 

Trying not to complain too much, such as when the Phantom, in a burst of rage after being betrayed by Christine when she takes off his mask on stage, makes the chandelier fall and the building sets on fire. I can’t help but spending the remaining time of the movie keeping myself busy, whether it is with washing the dishes, making more popcorn, or making tea, while half-watching the movie. They let me be, without coaxing or blackmailing me into sitting down again, and somehow we make it through. 

“Close your eyes,” Ian whispers that night in the privacy of our bedroom, me hiding under the sheets to fight the cold, Ian holding a sterilized knife, caressing my cheek with his free hand, 

I smile back to encourage him and then close my eyes and turn my neck, resting my head just as his silent hand commands so he gets a better angle. He's already applied the No-Pain on the area, but it still feels a bit nauseating feeling and hearing the knife pierce my skin, blood dropping on the towel under me. I try to focus on disconnecting my points of connection instead. 

Then, a set of strong yet sweet hands coax me out and I, the small creature at the back of this Host’s head, cannot listen to his plea. I need a few more seconds to detach myself from the hundreds of connections to this Host and then leave the vessel to meet Ian's waiting hands. 

He carries me, ever so softly, ever so carefully, and I'm already extending the one connection I truly need with Ian--to share my memories with him in a moment of complete openness and honesty with the man that I love. We've been doing this regularly since our first try but there's still so much that I can show him and that he can share with me. Even if we keep doing this for the foreseeable future, that is, the next few decades, I'm not sure we'll have fulfilled a complete bonding process.

This time I choose to give him for details about my Origin Planet because he'll never tire of it. It’s my beginning and he wishes to see and understand all there is to that Planet, he says whenever I ask him about it. So I indulge him once more. 

What Ian offers me this time. . . Is me. I see myself from his perspective on so many different occasions. Teaching at College. Working at the greenhouses. On any of our family dinners. On that cruise over the Mediterranean, laughing at some joke I cannot remember, the sun bathing my pale skin, my hair willowing in the wind. Helping, and probably failing, Nick with his homework. In all of those instances, those snapshots, I see--feel--Ian’s profound love for me. 

He also presents me with one curious piece of memory. This happened just a few hours ago, while we were watching that forsaken movie. He specifically avoids any pieces of the movie, replacing them all with bits of music from his mother's piano; instead, I see myself through his eyes. The anxiety I suffered on the couch by his hands, which I could only deal with by making myself busy in the kitchen and taking brief peaks at the screen. I need a minute to understand what he’s truly showing me: the deepest and most honest love that he has for me and that he felt while seeing me in that mild panic attack. He wasn’t making fun out of me and my distress, he was genuinely concerned for me. I'm guessing that's what everyone else felt too. 

A few minutes later, where he lets me enjoy another piece of music of his mother playing, Ian takes me back to my Host, applies Suture on the recent wound, and leaves the bedroom to give me all the time I need to reattach all of my connections. By the time I open my eyes, my head resting with dizziness on the pillow, he’s already turned off the AC, washed his hands, and put away the knife he used. Upon seeing me awake, he climbs onto the bed, sitting right behind me, and looks at me with a tilted head and a sweet smile on his lips.

Lazy movements still, I rub my eyes and then grab his hand, giving him a small squeeze. 

“You have a big thing for me, don’t you?” I ask. 

He bursts out laughing, resting his hand on my cheek. Feeling a bit better now, I accept his help and sit on the bed, back against the wall. 

“You’re only realizing this _now?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the inconsistencies with updating this work !! Thank you for keeping around and hope you're enjoying the work and the series !


	21. Christmas Gifts

James Joyce, Philip Roth, J. K. Rowling, Stefan Zweig. . . So many options, so little time. The despair of being amongst hundreds of thousands of books, however, brings a smile up to my lips as I caress with my fingers the covers of one shelf, stopping now and then whenever I see an unknown author, or a book's title that catches my eye. 

“This is bollocks,” scowls Mel behind me. As I turn, I catch her slamming a book shut and dropping it back to its pile. Apparently she's not sharing my happiness. “This would be a hell of a lot easier if we didn’t have to abide by any rules, Wanda.” 

“And what is the fun in that?” I ask in return, moving on to the next shelf. 

“Well, perhaps I wouldn’t go crazy, you know?” she shrieks. “Your goddamn rules exclude half of these books.”

“Only half?” I ask in a whisper, so she doesn’t hear me. I’d be disappointed in us Souls if my rules didn’t exclude a third of the books on display. 

“Perhaps we could make an exception this year.”

“No, we couldn’t. Come on, it’s not so bad.” My family knows there are some human things I can accept and have integrated into my life with them: classic movies, casinos that just indulge in gambling, bad vices such as smoking, or drinking. But there is one rule I cannot oversee and ask them, out of consideration for me, to respect: Souls teachings in regards to presents, when they involve books. No crime, violence, murders, harassment, bullying. Classic crime novels excluded. It does make choosing Christmas presents that much harder, but funnier, and also educational.

“Says you,” scowls Mel, wishing I hadn't heard her. 

“Life’s tough, so suck it up.”

Mel’s lack of response makes me turn around--she meets me with a shocked look on her eyes. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t even think you knew those words.”

I roll my eyes, turning towards the books again. “You pick a thing or two living with humans. Now hurry up, we don’t have all day.” 

Behind my back, Mel sighs deeply, dropping the book on the shelf. “I’m just going to go to the clothing department. Jared’s in dire need of a few new shirts.” 

She starts to walk across the shop. I keep my eyes down, half-reading the summary and review of a particular book I’m inclined to buy for Nicholas, and only speak when Mel’s halfway across the room. 

“Fine, if that’s how you want to win,” I accept. 

Her steps freeze immediately. Peeking by the corner of my eye, I catch her spinning on her heels very slowly, a deep frown between her eyes, shocked and at the same time happy and relieved by the turn of the conversation. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I’m not going to tell you what to get for Jared for Christmas,” I promise, raising my hands in a defeated posture. “All I’m saying is--you give up now, you forfeit. You’re giving us Souls a fragrant and undisputable win.” 

Mel doesn’t respond for a very long time, evaluating her options. I don’t press her and keep my eyes on the book’s cover, deep down smiling with unashamed pride. I just hit a nerve--not only the differences between Souls and humans have made our families quite competitive against each other, but I’ve raised her a challenge she can’t say no to. 

Then, very slowly, her head held high, with as much dignity as she can muster, Mel walks back into the shop and returns to the “Romance” section she was checking out earlier. 

“I’m giving you and your rules one more chance.” 

Acknowledging her efforts of abiding by quite the extensive list of rules set up years ago for my family members, I nod and thank her with a warm smile over the shelves.


End file.
